


Black on Silver

by flutistgirl



Series: Black on Silver [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Platonic Relationships, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 154,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutistgirl/pseuds/flutistgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a three day mission in Wutai, the world is turned upside-down when the famed General Sephiroth brings home, of all things, a wife. Behind an elaborately woven (but 100% fabricated) facade of spur-of-the-moment romance is a great, dark secret that will take far more to protect than Sephiroth is prepared to give. Why would he even do such a thing? ASGZ friendship, OC</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He did what, now?

It wasn’t the war that sparked the mayhem this time. For once, news of Wutai was forgotten. Even ShinRa’s doings were largely left out of the picture. For the first time in a long time, spreading from Midgar outward to the rest of the planet, the world was inundated with earth-shattering news of a romance.

It started with a simple tactical objective of the ShinRa military. The ensuing mission had been brief and, by all accounts, uneventful. The official report itself was less than a page. In, search, out. It took as much time traveling to and from the area as it had to carry out the operation itself.

The city was Kuro, an infinitesimal speck on the map of Wutai. Less than forty people inhabited the village, and all of them worked the fields for a living. When ShinRa forces had arrived, it was the first time that most of the villagers had ever seen a sword, let alone a gun.

The only reason why a hamlet this size was of any interest to the military at all was because it was rumored that a particularly troublesome squadron of Wutaian troops shipped weapons through the area. Some notorious and elusive officials were rumored to be at the head of the battalion, and ShinRa was not about to let a chance to hunt them down slip through their fingers.

There was nothing that the military did that had been worth reporting, surely nothing that would call for two reprints of the Midgar Times. There was no confrontation, no intel to be gathered on the enemy officers, and certainly, definitely no weapons.

And yet the news of what had happened in Kuro spread like wildfire.

Critics questioned why such a high ranking ShinRa operative was sent to lead such a mundane mission in the first place. Some civil rights groups stirred, upset with the proceedings and claiming human rights violations. Some fangirls wept, or cried scandal or witchcraft. Most of the populace stood in stark denial, unable to believe that the stoic, cold-blooded General would make such a drastic choice when the war between Wutai and ShinRa was at its peak.

Whatever the implications for the war, human rights, and fangirls alike, by the end of the day, everyone in Gaia knew that First-Class SOLDIER Sephiroth had brought back a war bride from Wutai following a three day mission.

* * *

 

When Angeal found Genesis in the SOLDIER floor cafeteria, the man was squinting at a newspaper held sideways and three inches from his face. Unperturbed by his friend's intense absorption of the morning paper, Angeal took his seat at a small, greasy table across from his friend and slid a mug of coffee forward. The redhead hummed distractedly and caught it with one hand, but let it go unattended as he continued to scrutinize the front page.

“I didn’t know you took an interest in the news,” Angeal commented, removing the teabag from his own mug and shaking it dry. Breakfast in the barracks was ham today, or some semblance of it. He picked up his fork and decided against the grayish meat, going for the eggs instead.

“Everyone is taking an interest in the news today,” Genesis said. He continued reading for a moment, but when Angeal did not reply, he finally looked away from the paper to give his friend a disbelieving eye. “…Naturally,” he said with a small shrug, “you would be the last person on the planet to know.” He shook the paper once and continued his reading.

“I don’t trust the journalism in the Midgar Times,” Angeal said before taking a long, slow sip of his steaming tea. It was early, and it was Monday. He had a sinking feeling that the day was going to be very, very slow.

“Then pick up any other newspaper, you’ll find the same thing.”

Angeal raised an eyebrow as his friend rotated the paper further. Now it was nearly upside-down, held suspended above the table at the strangest angle by both of Genesis’s hands. “What are you doing to that paper?”

“I think I can make out Seph’s hair in this photo if I hold it this way. Still, it’s a stretch. It could be anything, really.”

“Sephiroth made the front page?”

“He did much more than that.”

Angeal sighed and wordlessly held out a hand. Genesis handed over the paper. In the biggest, boldest words Angeal had ever seen on one sheet of paper was printed: “FAMED SHINRA GENERAL WEDS WUTAIAN GIRL”.

Angeal stared at the words. And stared some more. He blinked and refocused his vision. The headline did not change.

There was still a chance. “Surely they’re not talking about…”

But they were. It didn’t take any more than a cursory glance to tell that Sephiroth’s name was all over that page.

He turned his attention to the photograph. Genesis was right; it could have been a photo of anything. The caption claimed it was a hurried shot of Sephiroth and his new bride as they exited the convoy, but it was so blurred and chaotic that it was impossible to tell. Sephiroth hated paparazzi with a passion, and if he had been approached by the press, then it was a miracle that even this pittance of evidence from their encounter had survived.

“What happened in Kuro?”

“You can read, can’t you?”

Angeal ignored the quip. “Where is Sephiroth?” The trio usually ate breakfast together. Admittedly, the silver general had been scheduled to return to headquarters in the ungodly hours of that morning, but Sephiroth was a machine, regular as clockwork, never missing a day of work no matter what it meant for his sleep. They had assumed he would be at the cafeteria to begin the daily grind.

“I wouldn’t show my face if I was him either.” Genesis took a bite of the ham, winced slightly, and discreetly disposed of the remains in his napkin, following up the action with a large swig of coffee. “Or if the press has it right, maybe he’s honeymooning.”

“You and I both know that this is absurd,” Angeal scolded. And for a million and five reasons, it was. As far as the two of his friends knew (and they were probably the only ones close enough to the Silver General to be able to tell), Sephiroth was as absolutely asexual as he appeared to the public, with zero interest in anything even vaguely romantic. Even if a girl had somehow managed to catch his eye, he did not form relationships quickly or easily. It had taken Genesis and Angeal the better part of four years for them to have a semi-normal, mostly functional friendship with him. For Sephiroth to devote his life to a woman based on three days of knowing her would be an anomaly of astronomical proportions.

“Maybe the fangirls are on to something. They’re blaming that ancient Wutaian witchcraft stuff. What mortal man could resist something like that?” Genesis commented dryly.

Angeal resisted the temptation to glower. This wasn’t the time for levity; Sephiroth had gotten himself into deep trouble. Even if this whole thing was only a rumor, it would not die quickly or easily. Angeal thought long and hard. What did he know? Had Sephiroth acted strangely before he left? Was anyone out to get him that would resort to such slander? He ended up with nothing. As far as he knew, this had happened out of the blue, without a prologue of any kind.

Genesis was musing on. “Where would he take a girl on a honeymoon? Costa del Sol is way too cliché for him, and the Gold Saucer is too flashy. Maybe somewhere like Cosmo Canyon?”

Angeal snagged Genesis’s plate away from him. “Come on, we’re going up.”

“Up? You think he’s in his room right now?”

“It’s a place to start.”

Genesis got to his feet, eyeing his plate before dismissing it with a wave of his hand. With that permission, Angeal dumped the plentiful leftovers in the garbage and set the dishes in bins.

“You know we have a meeting with the bigwigs,” Genesis said through a yawn.

“So does Sephiroth,” Angeal said. “Let’s clear up this mess and get on with our jobs.”

The good news, Angeal thought, was that today was no longer likely to be slow and boring.


	2. The Investigation

Angeal knew that knocking would not be effective. When Sephiroth did not want to be disturbed, he would _not_ be disturbed. While he was usually hospitable enough when his friends came to visit, even in a particularly sour state, if he was pushed past a point then little short of an apocalypse would get him to unlatch that bolt.

And Angeal guessed that today he was likely to be in “a mood”, as Genesis often referred to his friend’s locked-down state.

He started, for the sake of good faith, with a knock, knowing it was probably useless. “Hey, Sephiroth. It’s Angeal.”

No answer, no noise. But it wouldn’t be the first time that the Sephiroth had outright ignored them. He was still just as likely to be in there as he was to be out.

“I know you’re in there.” He didn’t, but it paid to be overconfident. Sephiroth took you more seriously if you had a strong front, even if it was fake.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten, but there’s a meeting soon, and I thought I’d ask how your mission in Kuro went before we went back to business.”

Was it possible for the room to be more silent than before? It would be something that only Sephiroth could pull off. Angeal could picture him, sitting on his couch, just staring at the door, seething in annoyance.

Genesis pressed his ear to the door. “What are you doing?” Angeal scolded.

“I don’t have to answer that,” Genesis said. “There’s something in there.” He listened for a moment, and Angeal knew he had identified the sound by the strange expression that spread across his face. “It sounds like running water and dishes.”

“Sephiroth doesn’t have a real dish in his house, you know he doesn’t cook—“ Angeal went silent as the realization hit him. “Oh,” he said.

Genesis started laughing. Angeal half expected Sephiroth to tear through the door and choke the laughter out of the redhead.

“Sephiroth, we want to know what’s going on.” He hoped that Sephiroth would listen to him and not Genesis’s sniggering. “We’re worried about you.”

And with that, the latch clicked, but the door did not open.

Genesis and Angeal looked at each other, the redhead’s laughter silenced. That had never happened before. Even if they’d annoyed him, he would have at least come to the door to tell them that in person.

“Are we walking into an ambush?” Genesis asked.

Angeal ignored that. “I’m coming in.”

Sephiroth’s apartment was modest. It always had been, and it probably always would be. The living room was furnished only by a couch, a small coffee table, and a bookshelf on top of which was a small television. In the near corner was sectioned off a small half-kitchen, with only a sink, mini refrigerator, and a microwave, all situated neatly on the countertop next to some stacked food items and disposable dishes.  There were a few cabinets up above the counter, but the two friends knew that Sephiroth never used them. There was a small, square kitchen table, with seats for four, but it, like the cabinets, was little more than a space-filler, or occasionally a place to set papers that needed attending to. The walls were bare of any decorations, but one perk was a large window that had a great view of the sprawling city below.

“How can Sephiroth live here?” Genesis mumbled to himself as he scraped his boots on the unadorned welcome mat before slipping them off and setting them on a rack by the door. Angeal followed suit. If Sephiroth didn’t care about decor, he certainly cared about the cleanliness of his home, and Genesis and Angeal had quickly learned that he was especially particular about getting mud on his carpet.

Genesis had told Sephiroth many times that he could afford a nicer apartment, even on a meager SOLDIER salary, though as a General he was paid much more. Sephiroth had shrugged and said it was a waste. Given how much time he spent in his office or out on missions, and how little time he spent at home, it was probably a valid point. Genesis even swore that Sephiroth slept in his office most of the time.

Just as the two had shut the door behind them, Sephiroth came out of the hallway from the right side of the room, rubbing a bath towel through his long, dripping hair. He stopped when he saw his friends, and his eyes narrowed. “How did you get in here?”

“It wasn’t you?” Angeal asked, though he had begun to suspect as much. For now, he judged it best to feign ignorance. “The door unbolted when we knocked.”

Sephiroth didn’t have to say anything. He had clearly just gotten out of the shower.

“So you didn’t hear us at all?” Genesis asked.

“No.”

“Can we at least take a seat?”

Sephiroth turned away to go back into the bathroom. “As you please.”

“You’re more frigid than usual,” Genesis commented, beneath his breath but not as quietly as was prudent. Sephiroth’s hearing was exceptional. Angeal jabbed Genesis in the ribs with his elbow but it didn’t matter. Though Sephiroth did not react, they all knew he had heard.

As they both took a seat on Sephiroth’s couch, they heard the hairdryer start and Genesis frowned. “Are we going to have to sit here while he does his hair?” Though they’d never seen the whole process yet, rumor had it that preparing his hair for the day was a long and arduous task, meticulously, even scrupulously done. By how immaculate it always appeared and how fussy he got when someone or something tried to mess with it, they believed it.

“Make the best of it,” Angeal said. “Turn on the TV.”

“Does he get anything good?”

Angeal sighed. There were only a few channels that were provided free of charge, and the only thing that was ever worth watching on them at all was the ShinRa News. It seemed unlikely that Sephiroth would pay for anything else, and they had both had their fill of news for the day.

“He’ll be done on time for the meeting,” Angeal assured him. Sephiroth was punctual to a point. “So at max he can only take up to…”

“…an hour and a half,” Genesis concluded. Angeal could feel his friend’s mood get sourer by the second.

“Wait a minute…”

Genesis rose from the couch. Angeal scanned the room quickly and immediately knew this was a very bad idea.

There was a small cardboard box on the kitchen table, unmarked and neatly closed. “Genesis,” Angeal said but knew it was useless. The redhead was already over there.

Genesis carefully opened the box. His face betrayed nothing, but he stared at the contents for a long time. Slowly, he pulled out a kimono of stunning workmanship. As he pulled, fabric as blue as midnight spilled across the table, shimmering, with embroidery in threads that shone like moonlight. The obi was wide, silver, but with glimmers of color like opal dust, and embroidered with pearlescent cherry blossoms of the daintiest pink.

“Holy…” Angeal whispered, eyes wide. Such a thing would cost a fortune. Aside from royals, he seriously doubted that anyone in Wutai could afford such a luxury. He had seen lesser kimonos costing several months’ salary for the average working man. But Genesis wasn’t even done with his exploration. He pulled out no less than five jeweled hair pins, each resplendent in both materials and workmanship.

“She must be…” If Sephiroth had brought home a Wutaian royal, then he was in for not only a personal mess, but a political one as well. They were at war with this girl’s motherland, after all.

The rest of the box was rather unremarkable. There were three scrolls tied with red ribbon, a small music box, two china teacups, and a small, well-worn book. “Poetry, maybe?” Genesis said as he flipped through the book. “It’s divided into short sections.” He set it down, unable to gather anything from the foreign script. “It’ll be the life of Sephiroth’s library.” Genesis, a literary man, had made it extremely clear exactly what he thought of Sephiroth’s own collection of practical, nonfictional books.

“Wait,” Angeal said, getting off the couch to join his friend at the table. He looked at the book. Especially compared to the luxuries of the rest of the box, it was plain, tattered, and worn. He could see fingerprints on the cover and across the pages and ripples from where it had gotten wet and then dried. In some places, the ink was bleeding.

“I know _this_ symbol,” Angeal said, pointing to one of the kanji on the cover.

“Oh, well, that makes things…interesting.”

The kanji, well known even on the Continent, was the character for _love_.

“If she’s a romantic she’s in for a rude surprise,” Genesis said. “She picked the wrong guy for sure.” He picked up the kimono by the collar. “So…how do I re-fold this?”

“You don’t,” Sephiroth said, and the two nearly jumped out of their skins. “It’s an intricate process. I’ll take care of it later.”

Sephiroth’s preparations had taken much less time than they had expected. Sephiroth was completely ready, hair, uniform and all. Furthermore, he had his angry battle-face on. His eyes were set on them, lethal in intensity, and his arms were folded across his chest.

They had been caught red-handed.

* * *

 

“Seems like you brought a lot back from Kuro, my friend,” Genesis said as he put down the kimono, folding it neatly in half on the table’s surface. He was the only one that Angeal knew who could act so coolly and naturally even under the full power of Sephiroth's wrath. He was either immune or an actor of the highest caliber.

“Indeed,” Angeal agreed, clearing his throat. “It all looks very…expensive.”

“Heirlooms of the Kazehawa family,” Sephiroth said blandly, as if any of the others knew what that meant.

“Is that her family?” Genesis asked, and Angeal tensed in anticipation of the answer. It was now that Sephiroth would either confirm or deny the presence of a woman in his life.

Sephiroth paused. “Yes. Her mother’s ancestors.”

“And… _her_ ,” Angeal said very carefully, knowing he was treading on thin ice. “I take it you brought her back as well?”

“Yes.” No apology, no explanation. To Sephiroth, it probably really was that simple. To the rest of them, it was anything but.

“And you…”

“Yes, she and I are married.”

There was a long pause. Angeal cleared his throat a second time. They had to talk or nothing would be said. Sephiroth was not likely to offer what was not asked for. “Well, congratulations.”

Sephiroth nodded curtly. There had to be so much going on in his mind, but none of it could be seen on his face.

“That came out of nowhere,” Genesis said.

Sephiroth looked at him, as if to ask where he was going with it. There was an edge in the way he stood – a defensiveness that the two had not seen in him for quite some time. His guard was way, way up.

“Did you really do it?” Genesis asked, but it was a question Angeal had wanted to ask as well.

Sephiroth reached into a file set next to the television on the bookshelf, deftly flipping through the papers until he found what he was looking for. He set the single sheet of parchment down on the kitchen table.

They could tell nothing about it. The whole thing was written in beautiful calligraphy, the Wutaian characters so artful that it would take a native to be able to read them. Near the bottom, however, was Sephiroth’s elaborate signature, next to a name signed in kanji. Beside and below them were several official-looking seals in red ink.

“Our marriage certificate,” Sephiroth said. “Or the closest thing to it that Wutai offers.”

Genesis let out a low curse. “You seriously...?”

Sephiroth put the paper back in the file and snapped it closed, turning away to return it to the bookshelf. It was a cue that the conversation was over, but Angeal and Genesis were far from done.

“So what caused you to take such a sudden and intense interest in this girl?" Genesis said. "Power? Pity? Hormones? What was it?"

Sephiroth’s eyes flashed from annoyed to enraged. His two friends could see his entire body seize up, tensed as if to physically retaliate. Seldom had they seen this kind of reaction, and never had they seen it off the battlefield. His pupils constricted to slits of black in seething, raging mako green.

“I did what I had to do."

And with that icy statement, he stormed out of his apartment, letting the front door slam behind him. Angeal winced at the sound.

“Genesis,” Angeal scolded and sighed at the same time.

“What? It isn’t like you weren’t thinking the exact same thing.”

“I had the common sense not to say it.”

The seconds ticked by in silence, marked only by the regular rhythm of the clock.

“Gaia,” Genesis sighed. “Never seen him _that_ bad before.”

Angeal nodded. Right now his friend would not be reasoned with. “What do we do now?”

Genesis crossed his arms and leaned against a wall, shaking his head.

“I guess we follow his example,” Angeal offered. “Go to the meeting and pretend nothing happened.”

“How long are we going to play _that_ game with him?” Genesis asked, irritated. The redhead was the most emotional of the three, with a flair for the dramatics. He did not let things sit and stew – he dealt with them promptly and with all the heat required for the moment. He did not like to sit back and play Sephiroth’s coolheaded game of concealing and waiting. Angeal didn’t like it either, but his patience was much greater than Genesis’s. Even so, as far as the two of them knew, Sephiroth could bottle up whatever he wanted and let it sit for an eternity. If left up to the Silver General, it was unlikely that anything would ever be discussed about the matter again.

“We’ll figure something out after he’s had time to cool off.”

And then they heard a soft scuffing sound.

Behind a closed door on the left was a spare bedroom that Sephiroth used for his personal study. But the desk and chair had been removed, placed in a corner of the living room, with all his books stacked on top of it. Apparently, he was clearing out that room, repurposing it. The scuffing continued from behind the closed door.

“She’s in there,” Genesis said. “Do we dare?”

“Something’s not right,” Angeal said, stepping towards the door. “Something big happened in Kuro. Maybe she will have some answers for us.”

And with that, he turned the doorknob.


	3. At Least Part of the Story

She was waiting for them, standing in Sephiroth’s old study, facing the door as if she had been expecting them.

Genesis and Angeal were struck, because while they had been expecting a Wutaian girl, deep down they hadn’t expected her to look so ordinarily Wutaian. She was dressed in a simple, light green yukata printed with dark bamboo stalks and leaves, with an obi of an unadorned strip of faded yellow cloth. She walked barefoot, but her geta sandals were next to the door. Her long, dark hair was pulled back and wrapped in a large but modest bun, a few dangling strands left to frame her face and conceal her ears. Below straight-cut bangs were deep, earthen colored eyes in the almond shape of her people.

Even now that she was away from her homeland, there was nothing on her indicative of her new home on the Continent. She looked very out of place in such a plain, modern apartment.

She put her palms to the sides of her thighs and dipped at the waist in a bow. Angeal mimicked her, but Genesis did nothing of the sort. Unfazed, the woman offered her hand to Genesis in a more Continental greeting, lips smiling kindly. “Welcome, friends,” she said in only slightly-accented Continental. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Genesis took her hand and shook once before releasing. Her grip was firm and steady.

“The pleasure is ours,” Angeal said, smiling. He liked her. She was soft-spoken and polite, but held herself proudly, in a demeanor strangely not too far from Sephiroth’s own.

“I am Angeal Hewley,” he said. “And this is Genesis. We’re SOLDIER Firsts along with Sephiroth.”

Genesis didn’t let the opportunity pass him by. “And your name is…?”

“Please call me Hana.”

“Hana, then,” Genesis repeated. “You've got quite a story to tell us, don't you?”

“Genesis--" Angeal began.

Hana held up a hand. “It’s fine, Angeal. I know that’s why you came here. No need to dance around it.” She paused, looking past them into the living room. Despite the kind smile on her lips, there was none of the newlywed glow in her eyes, only the barest glimmers of something infinitely deeper.

“Let’s discuss this over tea, shall we? There is much to say.”

* * *

 

“Your Continental is flawless, Hana,” Angeal remarked.

The two men were sitting on the couch, watching as Hana prepared the tea on the coffee table. She sat very formally, back ramrod straight, kneeling on the floor, and sitting delicately on her heels.

“I spent much of my childhood away from Wutai,” she explained, never pausing in her preparation of the tea. “Never in Midgar proper, but various places on the Continent.”

She took a mix of leaves the men did not readily recognize from a small, flowered fabric pouch. “It’s a recipe of my own invention,” she explained. “People usually like it very much.”

Even though she had only heated the water in an ordinary silver pan on a single electric burner and poured it with a ladle, she did so with the grace of much practice. Such art deserved a proper teapot at least. Angeal made a note to mention it to Sephiroth.

She scooped the boiling water into the two china cups from the box they had seen earlier on the table. Angeal almost turned down such finery, but Genesis readily accepted and Angeal did not want to disgrace her hospitality. The tea was perfectly seeped – strong enough only to make a statement without being overbearing – and the blend was familiarly comforting with hints of unique, new flavors.

“It is exquisite,” Genesis said appreciatively, and Angeal nodded in agreement. While Genesis’s approval probably meant more, as he had grown up rich and had more refined tastes than Angeal’s frugal family, Angeal could still appreciate the art with which it had been prepared.

Hana smiled and dipped into a bow from the waist. “I’m glad you like it.”

“You have to be a royal,” Genesis said, taking another sip after his declaration. Both Hana and Angeal seemed to expect him to say more, but he did not.

Hana dipped her head. “No. I’m flattered, but I’m really no one of consequence.” She gathered the materials she had used to make tea and rose to return them to the kitchen, speaking as she went. “I spent several years as a servant in the royal household. I was head of all the maid servants.”

“That doesn’t explain the kimono,” Genesis still pried further. “That’s not servant’s wear.”

Hana returned to the coffee table, still sitting on her knees, with her hands resting delicately on her thighs. She did not speak for several moments. “That is a family relic,” she said at last. “From an age very long past.”

Angeal looked down into his tea. Beneath the honey-colored drink he could see a design emblazoned in gold on the bottom. He tilted the cup slightly, watching the light flicker across the gold. It looked to be a very intricate phoenix amid thin, wispy clouds. The insignia gleamed as the light played across its surface, dancing with the movement of the tea - like the comforting glow of a flame. 

The image seemed suspiciously familiar.

Hana seemed very comfortable in the silence that ensued. She sat patiently as the two men finished their tea, a gentle and calming presence. When Genesis and then Angeal offered her their empty cups, she whisked them away to the kitchen, washing them immediately with great care, and then setting them to dry on a towel on the table.

She returned to her seat one final time in front of the men. Slowly, she took a breath, and then released it into speech.

“We met on the road to Kuro. I was with a caravan of merchants, headed south. Because of the nature of Sephiroth’s mission, he stopped us on the road and demanded a search of our cargo.”

“Nothing personal, I hope you know,” Angeal said. “ShinRa believed that weapons were being shipped through the area.”

“And we probably looked pretty suspicious, a little ragtag band like us,” Hana added with a wry smile. “Anyway, we complied. We weren’t warriors, and even if we were…”

She didn’t have to finish. It didn’t matter if the whole caravan was trained, they would be nothing next to Sephiroth. Angeal shook his head. It must be a very frightening thing to be pulled over by the silver general, of all people, especially with the rumors about him that flew unchecked across Wutai.

“Well,” she closed her eyes. “One of the cadets found weapons, and we were immediately taken into custody.”

“You were carrying weapons?” Genesis asked, suddenly more intrigued.

“They were the merchants’ personal weapons, not for sale. Even so, I was not aware they were there. I told them not to bring any more than necessary, and they not only ignored my counsel, but overstocked. They had enough to seem like a threat, albeit a small one.”

“And so you were Sephiroth’s prisoner,” Angeal concluded. “That’s…quite a way to meet him.”

Genesis hummed, extremely amused.

“I was the only one who could speak Continental, and so I was singled out as their leader. Sephiroth told me that if I could prove who I was and where I was going, he would let my caravan go.” She shook her head. “I tried to explain that I was a party independent of the Wutaian army, but it wasn’t enough for Sephiroth.

“He told me if I could not secure proof then I would remain a prisoner, and subject to interrogative action by ShinRa. Because it was late and his men needed to make camp, he gave me the night to reconsider my silence.”

“He actually threatened to torture you?” Genesis was outright laughing. Angeal had to admit, Sephiroth hadn’t really shown his best colors to the woman who would turn out to marry him. Unfortunately, it sounded like she’d caught the most business-end of him there was, and his business was war.

She continued without further comment on the matter. “During the night one of my comrades managed to set me free, but I couldn’t abandon the rest of my caravan. So I took a chance and went to Sephiroth’s tent. I thought maybe I could explain myself.

“And so I told him. Everything. We talked for a long time.”

She stopped here, and her eyes were very far away. She gazed forward, seeing nothing, for a long time.

She took in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “You might have to come back for the rest of the story later. I’m still reeling over it myself. So much has happened, and so fast.”

Genesis opened his mouth to protest but stopped when she rose to her feet. “Besides,” she continued with a very polite smile, “don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

Angeal checked his watch. She was right, the briefing was soon.

“You’re hiding something,” Genesis stated. “And you’re trying to avoid the subject.”

“Genesis,” Angeal scolded harshly.

His friend did not apologize for his words. As he rose he dusted off his red leather coat. “It will all come out, eventually. If we don’t get to you, ShinRa or the press will.” And without another word he excused himself from the apartment.

Angeal and Hana remained in the wake of Genesis’s accusation. Angeal noticed that Hana looked extremely tired behind her carefully tended posture and expression. He felt very angry at Genesis. She had just tried to express herself in the best way she knew how, telling a very private part of her life, and he had left her with a verbal slap and called her a liar.

He would have much to say to the redhead after the meeting.

“Please excuse his unforgivable manners,” Angeal said. “Rest. You’ve come a long way and had a lot happen.”

“Thank you, Angeal. We’ll talk again soon.” She opened the door for him and left him with a smile. “Please tell my husband I said hello.”

Angeal smiled. It was so strange to hear her say that, and yet, something about it felt right to him. “I will. You take care.”

* * *

 

Hana closed the door behind her and only then breathed out all her tensions. “Was that all right?”

“You said more than I would have.”

“But you would have said nothing at all.” She slid the chain across the door and turned back to her husband. “And that would not have placated them.”

Sephiroth stood by the window. She knew he’d been on the balcony the whole time, listening to every word she said. “You are quite the actress,” he said.

“I told you I was. I’ve always had to be.”

“Was it really necessary to go into all that detail?”

“You were the one who told me that Genesis has a flair for drama. Besides, the best way to tell a lie is to use as much of the truth as possible.”

Sephiroth hummed, a soft sound that Hana had learned meant something close to agreement. “Your ending was abrupt. Genesis saw through it, at least.”

“I was unprepared to discuss…what happened between us that night,” she said. And the statement hung heavy in the air. “I thought I figured out how to tell it but when the time came I couldn’t." Sephiroth offered nothing in response to that. "Hopefully they’ll just see me as an awestruck bride," she said with a shrug.  

“Angeal seemed to buy it,” Sephiroth said. “And he might be able to persuade Genesis.” Hana took that as something close to a compliment. After all, he would have been incapable of retelling any of their story. She knew that was why he had left the job to her.

“You should be going, too,” she said.

Sephiroth crossed the living room over to the kitchen. He looked at the counters. “There is some fruit and bread if you are hungry. I’ll come back later with lunch.”

“That will be fine.”

“Continue to make a list of the things you need for the house.”

“I will.”

“Then I’ll be going.”

He started to unlock the door when Hana spoke again. “One more question for you, Sephiroth.”

He stopped, hand still on the doorknob. He didn’t give verbal permission but she knew she had his attention.

“Why hide it from them? If they really are your friends?”

“We already discussed this. In explicit detail.”

“Fine. But the reason I let them in was because if you are really going to go through with this, you’ll need all the help you can get. I wouldn’t turn away what few allies you have.”

“Allies?” Sephiroth repeated, bemused. And then just like that the case was closed.

“I’ll be back with lunch.” And the door closed behind him.

Hana stood staring at the doorway for a long time. There wasn’t a sound except for the gentle rhythm of the second hand. 

She eased herself onto the couch. She was alone now, for the first time in days. Several very long, hard days. Her world had been turned upside-down and inverted, and only now was she washed with exhaustion. As her body began to uncoil, she began, at last, to feel.

She had said it herself. Newlyweds were often awash with emotions, not all of them positive. The difference was, she thought as she curled into herself, that most new couples could deal with the changes together, while she had to do it all on her own.


	4. Not Quite Back to Business as Usual

Before the meeting, everyone had been muttering to each other. When Genesis and Angeal arrived, tones hushed, but the whispers still continued. Everyone knew that Genesis and Angeal were Sephiroth’s only two friends, but apparently that relationship still didn’t make them as much of a threat as the Silver General himself.

Angeal and Genesis looked at each other, confused. The message Sephiroth had sent over the weekend said to meet for a short meeting about some matters regarding SOLDIER. The pair had expected to see mainly higher ranking operatives and their commanding officers. Instead, all the high brass from every department in the whole company was in attendance, from Urban Development to Science. The President himself had not arrived yet, but likely would if everyone else was here. As regular operatives, they felt out of place, but no one else seemed surprised to see them.

“This is new,” Genesis said. “And interesting.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of mistake,” Angeal said.

“Regardless, the opportunity has presented itself. I’m going to see what they’re saying.”

“Do be discreet.” Angeal was usually against eavesdropping. It was hardly honorable. However, in this situation, their friend’s reputation was at stake, and perhaps it was wise to scope out the damage. He decided to label it “spying”, for the noble cause of helping their friend, of course. The boardroom was buzzing with information, for those willing to gather it.

Genesis wafted naturally through the room, staying just out of earshot for a normal human, which was well within range of a SOLDIER’s hearing. Angeal had to hand it to him; he could be very subtle when he had to be. With so many people and so much gossip to focus on, it was easy for everyone else to forget the enhanced hearing of ShinRa’s elite.

Genesis was a flawless actor. His face betrayed nothing of what he heard. He always wore his slightly smug, disinterested expression as he moved to get water from a dispenser in the far corner of the room, sip casually as he walked to the corner nearest to the door to throw the paper cup away, and then around the rest of the perimeter to take his seat at the table. In doing so he had passed by nearly everyone in attendance, and from where he now sat, he could hear the offensively blunt, loud-mouthed goldmine of all gossip in the company: Scarlet.

Angeal took his seat next to Genesis. Like most of the men in ShinRa, Scarlet made his skin crawl. And even more unfortunately, all he got to hear was a shrill “ _Kya ha ha!”_ from her before people began to take their seats.

“Good morning,” Lazard, director of SOLDIER said as he took a seat next to Angeal. “Your first time at one of these? You’re both in for a treat.”

“Are you sure we are in the right place, sir?” Angeal asked. “We were told this was a meeting about some matters in SOLDIER.”

Lazard gave a small, humorless laugh, opening a file in front of him and pulling out an agenda. “Oh, I’m sure SOLDIER will come up eventually. We’re listed near the bottom but my guess is we’ll be able to weasel it in as soon as the talk inevitably veers toward Sephiroth’s latest adventure in Wutai.”

Scarlet sauntered over to Genesis and pulled out the seat next to him, flashing her long, painted nails and drumming them lightly on the chair. Genesis violently resisted her approach by lifting the chair from the floor with one hand, ripping it out of the reach of her overly-manicured nails, and shoving it back into the table. Scarlet gave an exaggerated sigh and moved to the other side of the table, sitting directly across from him instead and reveling in her victory with a wink.

“We may be more glorified, but we’re rank and file, not executives,” Angeal said to Lazard, ignoring the particularly unsavory insults that Genesis muttered under his breath. “We shouldn’t be at this table.”

“Sephiroth specifically requested your presence to deal with the matter at hand,” Lazard said. “Relax. Sometimes these meetings can prove to be quite entertaining.” The way he said it made Angeal uneasy. Genesis raised his eyebrows and muttered something that Angeal couldn’t catch.

Sephiroth entered the boardroom only a minute before the beginning of the meeting, even after the President himself had taken his seat, and only then did all chatter cease. As Angeal had expected, no one would dare to gossip about him while he was in the room. Angeal also wagered a guess that Sephiroth had also calculated the time of his arrival very carefully, forgoing his usual punctuality in anticipation of how all eyes, with varying degrees of directness, would be straight on him.

He took the empty seat next to Genesis as if nothing had happened: silent, as usual, tall and proud. Without even sparing a glance at the two friends at his side, he opened the folder set before him on the table and began leafing through. He didn’t look at all evasive, keeping the papers flat on the table and his eyes only cast down to read. He looked entirely like he had nothing to hide. It was an impressive front.

“Congratulations, General,” Scarlet said, giving him a round of applause by herself. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that we never expected such a thing from you. Please do give us the details of _everything_ that happened last weekend!”

Sephiroth raised one eyebrow, and held up a paper from the day’s packet, looking Scarlet squarely in the eyes. “I do not see my private life on today’s agenda. I suggest we begin by discussing more pertinent matters, such as number one, which is the financial toll of the Wutai War.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Scarlet, for reasons not entirely known, brought out the worst in Sephiroth, and she knew that all too well. To make matters worse, her sense of fun was truly twisted.

“And I thought your honeymooning days were sure to have softened you. You’re still as cold as ice, Sephiroth.”

“That’s enough, Scarlet,” Angeal said.

“I agree,” Reeve, the head of Urban Development chipped in. “This is a wholly inappropriate place for such discussion.” Sephiroth sent a quick glance his way in gratitude.

“And I thought we could have a little fun today,” Scarlet said with a pout, crossing her legs and sighing.

“I have time-sensitive experiments that I must return to; could we get on with it?” Professor Hojo sneered impatiently. Hearing the head of the Science Department speak noticeably worsened Sephiroth's mood. As if dealing with Scarlet alone wasn't enough, the sadistic scientist who, unfortunately, was responsible for Sephiroth's upbringing, never failed to make even the worst situation worse. Knowing what little Angeal did about the man, he didn't blame Sephiroth at all for never wanting to speak of his childhood.

“To finance, then,” Reeve began. “As you will see on page three of my report, the Wutai War is depleting our resources far faster than we can recover them. Even setting aside the lives lost, this war is proving to be far more costly than anticipated. Provided that no end to the war is in sight, cuts are going to have to be made.”

“Surely not to my space program!” Palmer squeaked, pale as death.            

“Where else?” Heidegger boomed, his lips invisible but his beard and mustache bobbing as he spoke. “I need more funds to put my troops on the field.”

“And I need more funds to develop the weapons for the troops,” Scarlet purred.

“S-S-Science then!” Palmer was scrambling now, palms sweating. “I need more funds for the rocket set to launch---“

“I second the notion of cutting the Science Department’s budget,” Sephiroth said.

“What about your foolish rocket? Why are we even bedazzled with the sky when so much needs to be done on the ground?” Hojo retorted acidly to Palmer, and then gave the evil eye to Sephiroth, who did not so much as blink. “My research is the backbone of the SOLDIER program, _General_. Without mako, your entire division grinds to a halt. You are just being defiant, _boy_.”

Sephiroth blinked nonchalantly and did not even bother with a reply. Lazard answered for him. “New SOLDIER recruitment has ceased because of budget restraints. To cut any more from SOLDIER means we will have to discharge men or go on without sufficient supplies and equipment.”

“The Turks are in a similar situation,” Tseng said. “And as we have been charged with intelligence duty, a budget cut would mean that our tactics will suffer.”

“Someone’s going to have to take the cut!”

“We’re stretched to our limits!”

“We need more funding to win this war!”

And then the room erupted into chaos.

Angeal watched as Sephiroth put his head in his hands, gently massaging his temples with his fingertips. The man sat through these meetings at least weekly. He had more patience than anyone in the building but even he was stretched to his limits. Genesis’s lips were pursed, brows drawn together and down. He had no such patience to speak of.

“Are all the meetings like this?” Genesis asked Sephiroth, barely audible over the din.

“Most of them,” Sephiroth said. “Unfortunately.”

It was when Heidegger started to look like he was about to clobber Palmer that the President intervened. “Why make more cuts when we can just increase revenue? Electricity rates, up, say…twenty percent?”

Reeve immediately attempted an intervention. “President, poverty and homelessness rates are through the roof—“

The President waved his hand. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Put up more propaganda posters to mitigate the effects. Scare tactics. Something like,” he took a big puff on his cigar, thinking. “Ah. Something like: ‘Every gil to ShinRa keeps our homes warm and safe’. Add some pictures of scary Wutai ninjas attacking little children. That should keep them quiet.”

“The common man can no longer afford rates as it is and to keep homes warm this winter…” But no one listened to Reeve. No one except Angeal.

Angeal rose to his feet in very rare, righteous anger. Thankfully, Scarlet also did so at the same time, and so attention was diverted away from his outburst.

Sephiroth’s reflexes were just as quick. He seized his friend’s forearm and squeezed hard enough for the pain to keep Angeal from speaking. “Keep quiet,” Sephiroth hissed.

Slowly, before attention could be drawn back to him, Angeal took his seat, subdued but not cooled. The war was being funded on the backs of the strained populace. As a child raised in desperate poverty, the idea hit far too close to home for Angeal. Genesis looked sideways at him, understanding the situation but not empathizing. As the child of wealthy parents, he had never known any want. His class would hardly be affected by the rate hike.

“Excellent idea, President,” Scarlet said. “Higher mako rates will bring in more money for better weapons, more intelligence, and better outfitted troops.”

“The war is as good as won,” Heidegger said with a gruff, horse-like laugh. “Those Wutai cowards won’t know what hit them!”

“With extra funding, I can refine the biological weapons we were discussing last time,” Hojo said.

“This…” But Sephiroth squeezed Angeal’s arm again before he could say anything. Reeve gave Angeal a despairing look, knowing that they were the only two in the room who would speak for the common man.

“Well then, all financial problems have been settled. What’s next on the agenda?”

“How about we forget the agenda,” Scarlet said, sultry and sly. “I have a splendid idea for that propaganda.”

“We should stick with the agenda and let the advertising department do their job,” Sephiroth said. Angeal could have told him not to fall for her bait. She had on her scheming look, and from the looks of things, she had a fight to pick with Sephiroth. And now that he had sunk down to her level, the battle of wills had begun.

“Why use scare tactics when we can win their hearts?” Scarlet crossed her hands delicately over her heart, pretending to swoon. “Why not capitalize on this little… _romance_ that already has the world positively _entranced_?”

Sephiroth’s eyes went flat. She was playing a very deadly game indeed.

“This sounds interesting! I want to hear her out!” Palmer said, but Reeve made a face of disgust, knowing what was coming. Unfortunately, her idea had piqued the attention of the President, who let out a puff of smoke and gestured for her to continue.

“Dear Sephiroth is already our poster boy. Why not put that to good use?”

“Because he and his wife are humans with a right to privacy,” Angeal said.

“You could put yourself on the poster,” Genesis suggested to Scarlet. “Go for sleazy sex appeal. Pretty sure we haven’t tried that yet.” This made Heidegger cough, which he suspected was a cover-up for a laugh. Palmer was sniggering as well. Even Tseng and Reeve were trying to hide a smile.

Scarlet went on, unperturbed. “Your poor, dear Wutaian wife. She comes from a world without the wonders we have today. She can’t heat her home or turn on the lights without fire. She’s probably never even seen a motion picture! And so Sephiroth’s heart went out to this dear little child, and he brought her to a proper, modern home where she can forget her heathen ways and live a real life. That’s all we’re trying to do: to save Wutai from its old-fashioned, pig-headed ignorance and bring the warm glow of mako power into their homes to transform their lives!

“You see? Even the great war hero doesn’t _want_ to ravage their homeland, really. All he wants, deep down, is save them from themselves. And look at his beautiful bride to prove it!”  

Angeal wanted to be sick. Sephiroth’s face was dangerously, deadly blank. Genesis’s lips were turning into a snarl at the corners. Reeve and Lazard were noticeably disgusted as well.

“This is a ploy,” Sephiroth said, “to get me to say more about my private life.”

“And a low blow at that, Scarlet,” Reeve added.     

“If the war ends, less of her people die,” Scarlet said. “Surely she wants that. And you, Sephiroth, can you continue to fight in the war, knowing you are killing your wife’s people and destroying her motherland?”

_Has she gone mad_? Angeal wondered. Was she implying that they should take Sephiroth out of the war, when nearly every victory had been directly because of him? It was simply unthinkable.

“I remain loyal to SOLDIER,” Sephiroth said. “And Hana has known this from the beginning.”

“ _Hana_?!” Scarlet exploded, showing all of her teeth in her widest smile. “Her name means _flower_! How adorable! The god of war and a beautiful, tender little blossom, it’s simply charming!”

Sephiroth would probably kick himself for letting her name slip out, but he would do it later. To everyone else, it was a signal of just how angry he was. For someone so deliberate with his words, that tiny slip said so much.

“Unless she is unwilling to end the war,” Scarlet drawled on. “Perhaps because she is a spy? Inside our headquarters, even!”

“Hana is a civilian who lived as far away from the war as it is possible to be.”

“A simple villager? She could be easily manipulated by someone in the shadows.”

“Enough!” Reeve surprised everyone by rising to his feet and slamming a fist to the table. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Scarlet, but I’ve had enough of this game.”

“Sephiroth is the hero of this war,” Heidegger said. “To remove him from his position is suicide for our cause and I won’t stand for it.”

“As Heidegger said,” Lazard agreed. “He is the heart of SOLDIER in many ways. You will cease these unfounded accusations against him and his wife.”

“You live in the executive suites, correct?” Tseng asked. “Then you sleep under Sephiroth’s protection. And on multiple occasions, he has defended your residence from direct attack.”

Palmer choked, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “Yes, I would rather like to keep it that way as well.”

“And I didn’t engineer the perfect soldier to sit on the sidelines of the war that will make his career,” Hojo said.

“Then we are all agreed, Scarlet,” the President said, “that you will cease this slander. Sephiroth, forgive this intrusion. If we are all agreed, let’s continue.”

“I’m not finished,” Sephiroth said. “I have something more to say.

“I did what I did for personal reasons, without intent to help or harm the company. However, I realize that by ‘wedding the enemy’, as it may be, my position will be called into question, as Scarlet has just so poignantly done. I have brought with me my fellow Firsts, who will take my place as executives at this table. I hereby formally resign from this portion of my post and delegate the power thereof to my comrades.”

Genesis and Angeal looked at their friend in utter bewilderment. The rest of the table joined them.

“I have approved this division of responsibility,” said Lazard, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “While he will remain the figurehead and still hold many responsibilities within SOLDIER and as an operative, some of his powers will be stripped to keep him at some distance from the central powers in the company. It is hoped that this separation will protect him and his wife from accusations of treachery.”

_And_ , Angeal realized _, to keep him further out of their influence as well. What’s he_ really _scheming?_

“Angeal and Genesis will take my place at this table.”

Scarlet cooed and shot a wink at Genesis, who visibly grimaced in return.  

It was Reeve who, once again, bailed Sephiroth out from any potential backlash. “If Lazard has approved it, it is done. That is well within the rights of the Director of SOLDIER. I guess Sephiroth should be dismissed.”

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said formally, sliding his folder to his friends next to him. “I will take my leave.”

And he did. Just like that. Behind him, he left only a still-stunned audience of ShinRa’s most powerful.

It was only when the door closed behind Sephiroth that Angeal realized that their friend had just dumped the responsibility of attending all these executive meetings squarely in their laps and then made a run for it – albeit with enviable elegance. He, himself, had openly admitted that they were often as awful as this one.

The realization seemed to hit Genesis at near the same time, as the redhead was snarling particularly unsavory curses beneath his breath.

“Next, we will discuss the custodial staff’s complaints about the SOLDIER floor…”

Angeal had to resist the urge to let his head fall forward and slam on the table. Genesis abandoned protocol and did not resist that urge.


	5. Someone Wicked This Way Comes

When Genesis came to visit the next day, he heard furniture moving as he raised his hand to knock on the door. Amused, he listened. He could hear Hana inside, pushing and shoving, murmuring words in her native tongue that didn’t sound very happy or triumphant. Sometimes he heard a short skid of wooden legs on carpet, but most of the time he just heard her body hit the barrier, push, and stop.

Then he knocked. The sounds abruptly stopped, but no footsteps approached. He knocked again, pressing the call button on the intercom and speaking into it. “I know you’re in there, Hana,” he said.

The door opened a crack, and the woman peeked out. He could only see her eyes. The chain was still on the door, preventing him from opening it further. “Oh, hello, Genesis.” She was very out of breath.

“Good afternoon,” he returned. “Remodeling?”

Hana’s eyes smiled. “Something like that,” she said. “Or attempting it, at the very least.”

“Hmm.” He held up a small package wrapped in shining white and silver paper. “I brought you a wedding gift.” He raised it and turned it lengthwise so it would slide through to her.

“Oh!” She was caught aback, and didn’t extend her hand to take it. “That’s very kind of you! You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s just a trinket,” he said. “And it’s customary. You did get married, after all.”

She finally took hold of the gift but did not pull it through. “Please, come in. It’s a mess in here, and I’m not much better, but let me at least sit you down and get you something to drink.”

“It’s really not that big of a de—“ Genesis stopped himself. He’d been in Wutai enough to see that gifts were a big deal. He knew only that much, but at least he was aware of his own ignorance.

He had come to make peace with her. And because he didn’t know her customs, he would play along.

“I would enjoy more of that tea,” Genesis said. And, truthfully, he would. Without even twenty-four hours to recuperate from the first executive meeting, he had been shoved into another. He had just come from the second meeting in two days, and though he had not believed it could possibly get any worse than yesterday's fiasco, he had been proved wrong. The back-to-back timing only made it worse.

She shut the door and slid off the chain, then welcomed him into her home. She hadn’t been lying: it was a mess. It looked like she’d been successful with moving the couches, but the bookshelf was at an odd angle at an odd place in the room. She had removed the books and the television from it, and they were heaped on the couch. She flew quickly, moving the stacks to the floor. She was dressed in one of Sephiroth’s ShinRa logo t-shirts, which was more of a nightshirt on her, and what looked like a pair of his jeans as well. He couldn’t tell under the baggy shirt, but he guessed they were cinched tight with a belt to fit around that tiny waist, and the legs were rolled up at least three times so they wouldn’t drag on the floor. It was the first time he’d noticed how tiny she was compared to her husband.

“I’m sorry I’m not really dressed, but it would be impossible to do all this in a yukata.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Genesis said. At her gesture, he sat on the cleared couch. She pulled over the coffee table and set his gift on it.

“I’ll start the tea. Please make yourself comfortable.”

And so she began, and in no time at all, she returned to him with steaming tea in one of her heirloom china cups. Genesis accepted wordlessly, nodding his thanks.

"Sephiroth isn't here?"

"Still working," she said. "He left really early this morning too."

Hana alighted on the second couch, some distance away, not directly in his line of sight. She turned her body to face him and he adjusted similarly. She moved like a heron, with perfected, weightless grace.

“You cannot be a simple traveling merchant,” Genesis said, taking a long, drawn-out sip afterward. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “But that’s not why I’m here. You don’t have to say anything.”

Hana nodded appreciatively and bowed slightly from her waist.

“How do you like Midgar?” Genesis asked, gently waving his cup to make tiny waves in its surface.

“I can’t really say,” she said. “I haven’t seen it, except through the window.”

“Sephiroth’s keeping you prisoner here?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that ShinRa hasn’t made my identity card or elevator key yet, and so I can’t get past security without someone with clearance, and Sephiroth has been too busy to take me out.”

“Ah,” Genesis said before he took another sip. Something about the blend tasted floral, and he could barely catch the aroma in the rising steam as well. “What is in this tea?”

“A lot of different things. Herbs, plants, and spices that remind me of home.”

“Mmm. From Wutai?”

“All but one.”

“Oh? And what’s the one that’s not?”

Hana smoothed the t-shirt over her lap. A needless gesture, probably done out of habit for when she wore her finer wear. She smiled wistfully and traced her finger on her thigh – drawing a symbol Genesis did not recognize. “Petals from a flowering tree in Gongaga. It is one of my favorite scents in the world.”

_Gongaga_. He had heard the name somewhere, recently. But he couldn’t place where. “That explains the floral scent then.”

“It’s actually one of three flowers mixed in the tea.” She smiled. “I’ll leave the other two to your imagination for now.”

“I know they come from Wutai. I’ll pay more attention to the flowers next time I’m deployed there.”

Hana’s posture relaxed. It was a gradual change that he’d seen slowly evolve over the course of their conversation. Gradually, she was opening up, letting down her guard. Genesis was surprised to find that he had done the same.

“You can open the gift if you’d like.”

“Don’t you want to wait for Sephiroth? He should be back for dinner." She frowned slightly. "Eventually."

“I don't even want to try to wait. Who knows when he'll be back? He won’t appreciate it, anyway. Pity, that."

She took the package and fingered the paper before carefully peeling at the corners. When it was fully exposed, she looked at it for a long time before she dared to caress the cover of the book. “ _Loveless_ ,” she said. “And it’s…so beautiful!”

The cover was made of deep red leather, embossed with gold and silver that shone in the light. The paper was good quality, thick and sturdy, slightly colored to look like parchment. Even the script was elegant, easily readable, but with a flair that was reminiscent of true cursive. Attached to the spine was a bookmark of thick, scarlet ribbon.

“Genesis, this is not a trinket! This is a work of art!”

Genesis smirked, pleased. “In truth, this was a test. I wanted to see if you had finer tastes than your woefully lacking husband. You passed excellently.”

“This must have cost—“

“Inconsequential. True beauty requires some cost, surely you can appreciate that.”

“But I can’t take—“

“You can,” Genesis said. “It’s a gift and I will be offended if it is not read and beloved as it was intended to be. Are you familiar with the work?”

“I’ve heard of it, but never read it.”

“Then consider it an assignment.”

Hana pressed the book to her heart and fully bowed. “I will. Thank you, Genesis.”

“And while you’re at it, you can try to inspire some appreciation for it in that husband of yours.”

Hana smiled. “I can try, at least.”

“You’re all right,” he said as he finished the tea. “I think you and I can get along quite well.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Yesterday when you left I was quite sure you didn’t like me.”

“I’m still suspicious,” he said. “Everything about you is tangled in mystery. I guess you and Sephiroth are similar in that, at least. But,” he shrugged, “everyone has the right to privacy, I guess. And I can’t fault you for that.”

She didn’t say anything, but took his empty teacup to the kitchen where it was immediately washed and set to dry. He liked her much better now that she wasn’t standing on ceremony, every movement calculated and executed to perfection. She finally seemed human.

Sephiroth, too, had been that way at first.

In surprising ways, the more he looked, the more he found that Hana and her husband really had in common. Perhaps they were not a doomed match after all.

“You need help moving that bookshelf.”

“Oh, it’s all right. I’ll get it.”

“It wasn’t a question,” Genesis said, smirking again. “Where do you want it?”

Hana pointed to the wall opposite of where it now stood. Genesis went to work.

He didn’t blame her for not being able to move it; it was surprisingly heavy in addition to being large – wider even than his arm span and up to his chest high. “This thing is old as dirt, but it must be real, solid wood,” Genesis said with appreciation. “It could probably be something beautiful if it was sanded down and refinished.”

“That was my intention,” Hana said. “As soon as I get out shopping for supplies.”

“You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you,” he said as he pushed the second end against the wall, stepping back to see if it was straight and centered.

“You won’t recognize this place by the time I’m done with it.” Hana said, returning to the kitchen and spooning some of her tea leaves into a fine mesh satchel.

“Heh. I’m looking forward to it. Maybe then Sephiroth will actually spend some time here.”

Hana nodded, rejoining him in the living room as he finished moving the bookshelf. When it had been peacefully silent for a few moments, Hana bowed and offered the small satchel of tea to him. “Thank you, Genesis. For the book and for moving the shelf. I’m very glad you dropped by today.”

Genesis took the satchel with a nod of thanks and tucked it away in his jacket. “Thank you for the tea. I fully intend to discover what is in it.”

“You can try,” she said with a smile.

“As smug as he is. Maybe you two aren’t so mismatched after all.” Genesis stepped through the doorway. His back to her, peering back through his crimson hair, he said, “Tell your husband ‘thank you for the promotion’ for me, and that I’m looking forward to the board meetings. Use as much sarcasm as you can muster.”

“I will,” she promised.

“See you later then.” Genesis raised his hand in parting and left.

He had taken the day off work. It would probably further back up the paperwork needing to be done, but that was Sephiroth’s problem now, and Genesis considered it more than fair retribution after he had been through two terrible meetings in a row, with the promise of more to come. As he approached the elevator, he finally decided to go to the SOLDIER floor. He’d just stay away from the offices. He didn’t have anything better to do, and doing nothing was better than doing paperwork.

It was when the elevator _dinged_ as he arrived at his destination that the light went on in his head. He knew exactly where he’d heard about Gongaga recently. Smirking, not even taking his usual pleasure as his expression scattered several Second-Classmen, he took out his phone and dialed.

“Angeal speaking.”

“Angeal, what is the name of that overactive Gongagan puppy that you mentor for? And, assuming he is training on the SOLDIER floor like a good little Second-class, which I admit is a stretch, where could I find him?”

* * *

 

“That bad?”

Sephiroth shook his head as he slipped off his boots and set them on the rack by the door. It had taken Hana all of two seconds to make that conclusion.

“We both knew it would be,” he said, and entered his home barefoot. The house had been freshly cleaned, and even though it hadn’t particularly needed it, he appreciated the fresh scent. “I suppose everything is going as well as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

Hana was crouched on her toes, using a small hand-broom to sweep the small hardwood area in the kitchen. Next to her was a pail of water and a washcloth. “If you need to use the kitchen I can wait to mop.”

“No, go ahead,” Sephiroth said and made his way to the couch, setting a plastic bag on the kitchen table on his way over. “Dinner,” he explained. “Just sandwiches.”

“I’ll eat after I finish.”

“I’ll wait.”

Hana tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ears and continued her work.

Sephiroth watched her from where he sat on the couch. It really wasn’t fair to have her locked away in his apartment all day, but there wasn’t much that either of them could do about it. The elevators in ShinRa took key cards that only allowed to access specific floors, depending on rank and position. The upside was nearly impeccable security, but the downside was if you didn’t have a keycard, you couldn’t go anywhere, which was Hana’s current predicament. It seemed like she’d kept herself busy by cleaning and rearranging thus far, but that wouldn’t last much longer.

Not that he dared to let her go alone into the city just yet either.

“Genesis came by to give us a wedding gift.”

“Oh?” He had a feeling he knew what it was from the start, but his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the red volume on the shelf – currently the only book that was not stacked on the floor beside the bookshelf. He went to pick it up, leafing through the pages gently. “Hm,” was all he said.

“It’s a very nice gift,” she said.

“It’s also a very overt jab at my attitude towards the work. Well, perhaps you will enjoy it.”

“You don’t like it?” Something about her side of the conversation felt hollow, like she was talking solely for the sake of keeping the silence away. He looked at her, sensing something was amiss, but he could decipher nothing further from her behavior.

“I don’t dislike it. I simply don’t care for it. A sentiment that is not helped by his incessant quoting of it.” He put the book back and sat back down on the couch, biding for time by playing along. “If you enjoy it, you might go see the live production on stage.”

“I’d really like that.” She said it timidly, and that was an unmistakable red flag. He focused on her, not understanding. She wasn’t herself tonight. She didn’t even look at him as she spoke, focusing on scrubbing the floor like it was some kind of excuse so she wouldn't have to.

She’d never been this subdued. Sephiroth frowned deeply. Something was clearly on her mind.

“It’s done,” Hana said, gathering her materials and setting them out of the way. Now her back was to him, defensive, but for no discernible reason.

“Thank you. It looks nice.” The apartment was still slightly messy from her remodeling, but he didn’t mind. The state was only temporary, and her work so far had done much to open up the place.

Hana went to the table, pulled out a sandwich, and then started off for her room. It was mildly alarming. Was something he was doing chasing her away?

Sephiroth sat at the table and pulled the seat next to him out for her. She turned around at the sound of the chair moving, pondered the notion for a moment, and approached. He hoped it hadn’t looked like some kind of an order. He hadn’t intended it to be.

Hana sat down slowly, holding her sandwich in both hands. She began eating as he fished his own meal out of the bag.

“I am meeting with Tseng of the Turks tomorrow,” Sephiroth said. “I will arrange for him or for one of his men to train you to use a gun.”

“I told you I’m not a fighter,” Hana replied, still refusing to meet his eyes. “And I don’t like guns.”

“We did not agree that you would become a fighter, we agreed that you would learn to defend yourself. I won’t always be nearby.”

Hana still didn’t look at him, but by the set of her jaw he knew she was upset. Very upset. She had hated the idea from the beginning, and only agreed grudgingly. He had tried to be as lenient with her as possible, and he had made concessions for her sake, but on this he could not budge. For her own safety - and admittedly his own as well - he couldn't leave her untrained and unguarded.

Even so, perhaps he had pushed too hard and too fast. He realized belatedly that it had been foolish of him to bring it up when she had already been unsettled. “Would you prefer a different weapon?” he tried.

She thought for a moment as she chewed. “A katana can’t stand against a gun. And that’s what most of my attackers would have.”

She spoke sense now, and was following his logic. He hummed, pleased that he had made his point. But he also noticed something else in her voice. “Do you have any interest in using a katana?”

“…Yes.”

“I can arrange for you to be taught.”

Hana said nothing, but was running out of sandwich to use as an excuse.

“You are not yourself,” Sephiroth said. “What’s wrong?”

Hana let her hands, now only holding the crust, fall to her lap. She seemed to shrink in her seat, posture falling. 

“I’m thinking. About a lot. I’m sorry, I guess I’m just preoccupied.”

Sephiroth waited for more, but nothing came. “There’s no need to apologize,” he said, but it did nothing to mitigate the tension building between them.

The two ate in silence.

Hana spoke only several minutes after she had finished her dinner, staring at the paper bag it had come in. “When Genesis came, he asked about what was in the tea. And ever since, I’ve been thinking about all the things in it. Everything I put in there is tied to a memory. At first I was very happy, remembering it all, but then my mind wandered to…other things. The things I’d rather…forget.”

Sephiroth respected her silence, waiting, trying not to place any pressure to speak on her. Though upset, Hana couldn't deny that his patience was impressive.        

“How long do you think it will be before he gets here?” she asked in a whisper.

_So that's what it is_. He felt better knowing the cause of her abnormal behavior. Sephiroth gathered his trash and put it in the paper sack before he answered. “Assuming that the news of our marriage has spread back to Wutai by now, I’d guess he’d make it within the week. ShinRa security should slow him down. Maybe if we’re lucky they’ll take care of the problem for us.”

Hana shook her head. “Maybe Oniichan will get here first.”

“That is the more favorable outcome, but will he be able to stop him?”

“…No.”

“Then we will prepare for the worst.” He rose from the table and threw the trash away. “I will see if I can get you trained starting tomorrow.”

“Sephiroth?” Her voice was very small now, and her hands were clenched in shaking fists. Her head was bowed so low that he could see the entire part in her dark hair. “Will you…kill him?”

Sephiroth hesitated. _Fear_. She was very, deathly afraid. That’s what was behind it all.

“Sleep tonight. There’s nothing that can be done now.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You will not like my answer.”

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t. _Say it_.” Her challenge rang in the air. Sephiroth tensed, as if in preparation for battle. It was an instinct he only called on when threatened. How had she learned his trigger so quickly?

It was… _infuriating._

“Very well,” he said, crossing his arms. “Unless the situation forces my hand, that decision is yours to make. I won’t take that from you.”

“You won’t,” she shot back, quiet but venomous, “or you _can’t_?”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. Now she was really treading on dangerous ground. “You are upset and irrational. Do _not_ turn this on me.”

“It’s already on you.”

Under his simmering temper, he acknowledged in passing that he was unpleasantly surprised by how she had gone from terrified to spiteful and angry so quickly. “Do not challenge me, Hana.”

“Don’t patronize _me_.”

The entire exchange was extremely confusing and irritating.

_She’s afraid_ , he told himself as he took a deep breath. _She’s like an animal backed into a corner._

The insight didn’t give him any further directives on how he should respond.

“Hana,” he said, level and emotionless. “ _Yukihana_.”

The use of that name jarred her. “What?” she said, and her bite was gone.

He knew he could not say the words with the emotion with which they were meant to be spoken.

But he knew the words, and they were all he had.

_“…Hitori janai._ ”

Hana laid her head on the table. He heard her breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In…

“Does it sound as hollow to you as it does to me?”

And then at last she met his eyes. Wide, wet, vulnerable. Pretense was gone, stripped away. And in those depths he saw worlds of untold, undiscovered turmoil.

And in him, behind the thinnest layer of steel, he knew she saw the same.

_What have you brought out in me?_ The thought flashed simultaneously through the two minds connected by only one frail thread.

Then and there, in the silence, with nothing but each other, the truth kept at bay until now flooded over them in paralyzing waves, ripping the thread they each grasped from their hands.  

**_What have we done?!_ **

In Hana’s mind, she saw that final thread fall into the darkness of the impassable chasm between them.

She didn’t even have the strength to grab after it as it disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translation(s):
> 
> 1\. "Oniichan" - Older brother, informal (~chan suffix implies a friendly relationship)
> 
> 2\. "Hitori janai." - (You) are not alone.


	6. A Face from the Past

_It was raining, hard. So hard that she couldn’t see the road in front of her. So hard that she could no longer even tell that tears were streaming down her face._

_She kept running. She had slipped in thick mud earlier, and her ankle screamed a reminder of her injury with each step, but she had to keep going._

_Every breath was an effort. Her chest heaved, but the air was more water than oxygen. She was drowning. Her body screamed for respite but she could not stop._

_How long had she been running? Hours? Days? The black, angry sky told her nothing._

_She knew only one, consuming command: one foot in front of the other, **quickly**! _

_But the rain and her own exhaustion were driving her ever deeper into the earth._

_After an eternity, it was too much, and she fell to the ground at last. Splayed out in the mud, she didn’t even have the breath or energy to cry for help._

_And then she saw a light at the end of the long, dark road._

_It was a strangely liberating feeling to think that the end had come. All the worries of tomorrow dissipated, for tomorrow no longer existed. She gave a choked laugh and laid her head down in the mud, a small smile on her face as the light washed over her._

_But then…pain. This light was not kind. It was not here to return her to the Lifestream._

_“Hey!” a voice called, breathless. A boy. And he had been running. Rough, calloused hands slapped her face. “Hey! Wake up! Are you hurt? Hey! **Hey!** ”_

* * *

 

It was lunch as usual in the SOLDIER cafeteria. Today’s lunch was turkey, or something that the cafeteria tried unconvincingly to pass off as turkey. Still, it was better than the special, which was more appropriately labeled “mystery slop” by most.

“It’s gray,” Zack said, staring down at the mass of meat. He poked it once, then twice with his fork.

“Just be glad it’s not yellow this time,” Kunsel sighed.

“And the potatoes---are these potatoes?”

“Shove ‘em in fast enough and you can’t taste them.”

“You know, they’re counting on our bodies to perform. They spend all that money on mako enhancements and training sims, you’d think they could afford to at least feed us better.”

Kunsel shrugged, unconcerned, speaking through a mouth full of potatoes. “Maybe the food _is_ pumped up with something. That could be why it’s so bad.”

Zack grimaced, filling a fork with potatoes before thinking twice and returning them to his plate. “They’re _sticky_.”

“Just eat it, or _quietly_ starve through performance testing. Don’t whine to me about it this time.”

Zack soured, pouting at his food. Lunch break was a joke. All the Second-Class had to eat at the same time, with the army cadets to boot. It was a room full of sweaty, hot, grumbling men straight from training without so much as a shower, because if you took the time to clean yourself, the daily special was all that was left.

“ _Turkey_ ,” Zack said. “Yeah, I wish.” But he needed all the help he could get to make it through testing. He knew he’d get it double from Angeal if his numbers didn’t go up this time.

_"You’re not focusing; therefore, your training time is going to waste._ ”

“I’ll show you,” he grumbled through the turkey, quickly adopting the so-called “shovel, dump, and gulp” eating method that Kunsel preferred. The man said he was going to patent it and start charging any copy-catting cadets.

“You ever wonder if this stuff is leftovers from the science department experiments?”

“Zack,” Kunsel groaned, turning green. No one knew what happened in those labs except the scientists, and the rest of the world was extremely content with not knowing.

“Seriously, think about it. Monsters go in and never come out and this stuff is _definitely_ not turkey—“

“Zack, if I hurl, I’m aiming for you.”

“Who wadded up your panties this morning?” Zack grumbled, but he could hardly blame his friend. Performance tests were dismal enough, and lunch never helped.

Would anyone make First-class this time? Would _he_?

“You turned quiet pretty fast. Must be thinking about making First again,” Kunsel said. He hadn’t even needed to look at his friend.

“That’s creepy, man,” Zack said blandly, staring at his next bite of turkey. “You read minds now?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever.”

“I don’t care what Angeal says, honor and dreams will only get you so far. If you had put your all into your training, you’d probably have made it by now.”

“I don’t need lectures from you, too, Kunsel. Let’s just eat and get these tests over with.”

“That’s the spirit,” Kunsel agreed with a sigh.

“Do you think we’ll be testing on virtual sims this time or those psychopathic droids that Scarlet didn’t get approved?”

“A droid can’t be psychopathic.”

“Possessed, then?”

Kunsel cracked a smile. “That was really bad, wasn’t it? One of them zapped me in the face and I had this dumb look frozen on my face for a week.”

“I remember that,” Zack said. “Commander Ziff thought you were making fun of him behind his back at least five times. How many push-ups did you get for that one?”

“Hey, at least I kept my pants on. You lost yours in that fire blast after about five seconds.”

“Those things are _supposed_ to be fireproof,” Zack protested.

“Lucky for you the boxers were.”

“Oh come on! It’s not like it’s something we haven’t seen in the locker rooms already.”

“Yeah, but it certainly must have made an impression on the Firsts who reviewed out performance. You did a great job of stop-drop-and roll too, _after_ that little dance-run-and-scream thing. They’re sure to remember you this time!”

Zack regretted bringing up the topic, but at least the mood was lighter now, and he had gotten his lunch down to boot. He hoped it stayed there.

“Good riddance! Something’s wrong when you are happy that _lunch_ is over--”

The room was silent. Zack was the last to catch on, and it was embarrassing that he couldn’t call back his words that echoed through the room.

But no one seemed to notice.

Everyone was staring at _her_.

* * *

 

She just stood there, in the doorway of the cafeteria, as pretty as a china doll, a lone woman in finery in a room of at least one-hundred stinking, grumbling men. She was dressed in a sky blue yukata printed with large white blossoms, long, square sleeves falling to her waist, which was encircled with a sunny yellow strip tied in a large bow. Her hair was pulled half into a bun high on her head, and half hanging straight and sleek down her back and shoulders. Pinned into its dark depths was a comb of jade, and she wore geta sandals on her feet.

She looked like something taken from a traditional Wutaian painting, quite rudely ripped and pasted into the wholly inappropriate setting of a cafeteria in the heart of the Continent.

“Excuse me,” she said politely, with the most charming hint of an accent. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I need to find General Sephiroth’s office.”

Silence. Not a single word out of a single man, though everyone was thinking the same thing. They had all heard the rumors about what their commanding officer had brought back from his last mission.

“I have some things he left at the apartment.” She held up a bundle wrapped neatly in bright, printed cloth. “He will need them very soon.”

No one wanted to go see Sephiroth in his office. Ever. But on the other hand, if he heard that a whole cafeteria of men under his authority had failed to help deliver an urgently needed package to him….

Eyes started to shift. _Who’s gonna take one for the team?_

“I hardly need an escort, if you could please just provide some directions—“

One of the cadets rose to his feet, and for some reason a whole battalion burst into raucous laughter – maybe because they were the only ones to know him. Strange that he hadn’t even taken off his helmet to eat lunch.

“I-I can help you, ma’am,” the cadet said, but tripped over a chair on his way to her. Now everyone was in on the laughter. The man scurried over to her with a beet red face. She smiled kindly and followed him as quickly as he ran.

“Well, what do you know? The rumors about our esteemed General are true,” Kunsel chuckled. “She’s quite a pretty little thing, I’ll give her that much. Not my taste, personally, but I can see how some men would---Zack?”

Zack was staring at the space in the doorway she had just occupied, jaw slack and mouth open. Stupidly, he raised an arm, hand limp on his wrist but one finger pointing at the now empty doorway. “She…” Zack shook his head, wild, black spiked hair bobbing. “It couldn’t have been… _Hana_ …”

“Oh? You know her?”

Zack blinked a few times, brows furrowing in concentration as he re-examined her image in his mind. “There’s just no way. No. Way.”

“You should have offered to take her. Then you could have found out yourself.”

Zack put his hand down and seemed to regain his composure. Uncharacteristically, without a word, he got up from his seat and exited the cafeteria.

“Testing is in about ten minutes,” Kunsel called after him.

Zack didn’t seem to hear. As soon as he hit the hallway, he took off after the woman in a dead sprint.

* * *

 

_The light he carried was too bright. She could see nothing but black spikes. It hurt her eyes and she groaned._

_He let her fall again, and she heard him rummaging around in a sack. Things hit the earth, metal things. It sounded like pans and cutlery. “Ah!” the boy said in triumph. “Here’s my first aid kit! I’ll fix you up in no time, you’ll see!”_

_She heard the kit pop open, but the boy did nothing. “Uh…” he said. “Um…this…”_

_He scuffed around a bit, sheepishly. Eventually, he wiped a bit of mud off her face and pressed a small adhesive bandage on a cut across her cheek. “That will help a little bit! Don’t worry, next time I’ll tell Mom to get me a better kit.” Even though “next time” was a pitiful substitute for “now”, he sounded happy. Excited, even._

_"Come on, you can come to my house!” Gracelessly, but with good intentions, he pulled her up onto his back, staggering under her weight. “It’s…just a little ways…you’ll see!”_

_And so he sloshed through the mud, her feet dangling and leaving furrows in the soil behind them. He accidentally let her slip more than once, but always apologized, picked her up, and continued the venture._

_It must have been hard. Miserable. But with every step he was smiling, laughing. There was a life and energy in him that could not be thwarted by the elements. He was talking with her about happy things like what his mom was going to cook for dinner when they got there, and how she could have his bed to rest._

_Her heart was filled with warmth, and she slipped into a peaceful sleep._

* * *

 

He had almost made it there without incident. He had gotten some weird looks because while it wasn’t technically against the rules to leave the cafeteria during lunch, most didn’t, because it was the only break they got when testing season came rolling around. No one had tried to stop him, but he had gotten some angry outbursts from people he had bumped into in his haste. He called out a hurried “Sorry!” and continued on each time.

He was just about to turn down the hallway to the SOLDIER offices when an icy voice made him skid to a stop.

“Zack Fair. Second-class.”

He couldn’t see who it was that called him, but he screeched to a stop and snapped to attention out of habit, an awkward gesture as momentum from his speed kept pulling him forward, almost toppling him like a wooden doll.

The man sounded crazy serious, and that tone was authoritative and threatening enough to make Commander Ziff sound like a high-school cheerleader. Besides, his full name and title had been used, and that spelled trouble for sure.

He racked his brains. Had he done anything recently?

“Hm,” the officer said. “Puppy indeed.”

No one but Angeal called him that, but this was not Angeal. Zack overrode his impulse to reply and stayed ramrod straight at attention.

“But he can be trained, it seems. Turn around, boy.”

Zack relaxed and turned around, but yipped in alarm when he saw who it was he was speaking with.

_Genesis!_

Zack had never met him in person, but he knew that iconic red coat. Rumors circulating around SOLDIER had it that he was the most volatile of the First-Class SOLDIERs, as well as a drama king. He didn’t much care for anyone below him in rank, and could be hotheaded and arrogant. Angeal talked of SOLDIER pride, but Genesis took pride to a whole new level. He was on a pedestal above the rest of the world and he made sure everyone knew it.

When Zack had asked Angeal about him once, his mentor’s reply had been a small laugh. “I wouldn’t advise crossing him,” he had said. “He does not have my patience.”

Zack tried to put on a smile, hoping he didn’t look too cornered. “Can I help you, sir?”

Genesis’s eyes lit up in amusement, catlike, as if playing with his prey. “I know where I’ve seen you before. You’re that Second who went through last period’s tests sans pants.”

Zack tried to keep a smile but couldn’t withhold a grimace, and then tried not to think about how awkward his expression must look. Unfortunately, it seemed that Kunsel had been right about the Firsts remembering him. He tried but failed to come up with an intelligent response.

“I---uh…”

Genesis grinned and clapped, slowly. “Quite the performance. I enjoyed it very much. You did me quite the favor breaking up the monotony of watching you Seconds scurrying around in the dark.”

“…Thanks, I guess?” It was all Zack could say. He was getting angry. Genesis was purposefully toying with him and, unless he wanted to kiss all chances of him getting First-class goodbye, he could not retaliate.

Genesis cocked his head back and red bangs fell over his eyes. He brushed them away nonchalantly, but peered at him through narrowed eyes. “You are from Gongaga, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” What did that have to do with anything?

“Good.” Genesis pulled out a small, fine mesh satchel from his coat, a white ribbon drawstring sealing it tight. Without prologue, he tossed it to Zack, who caught it in his hands.

“Identify any scents you recognize.”

“Uh…” Zack held the bag in two fingers by the drawstring, letting it dangle. “ _Smell_ it?”

“Unless you have an alternative method for identifying scents, that would be the reasonable thing to do.”

Zack wanted to roll his eyes, so he closed them tight instead until the urge passed instead. Under Genesis’s intense stare, he obeyed.

His eyes widened in shock after only the first breath.

_It couldn’t be… **hers**?!_

“What did you find?”

“What is this?” It came out before Zack really had time to judge whether the question was prudent or not.

Genesis tilted his head up and looked down on Zack. “Tea,” he said simply. “A special, rare blend.”

“Tea,” Zack repeated and shook the bag, watching the dried leaves and buds bounce in the bag.

Genesis folded his arms impatiently but did not respond.

“If I tell you what I smell, will you tell me who blended this tea?”

“You are hardly in a position to bargain, boy. Especially with the performance exams coming so soon.”

Zack looked down at the bag again. _There they are, sure as day_ … He pinched a bud between his fingers.

“Besides,” Genesis continued, “judging from your reaction, and assuming that you are in this hallway to see someone _other_ than General Sephiroth, your question is unnecessary.”

Zack looked up at Genesis. Had that been the confirmation he’d been looking for under those slick words and cruel smirk?

“Kachnar,” Zack said. “Others call it the orchid tree, or mountain ebony. It’s a flowering tree native to Gongaga.”

“I see. And would there be any reason to include it in tea?”

Zack hesitated. “It can be used in cooking. It’s a delicacy. It also has some uses in medicine.”

Genesis’s eyes pierced into him. They both knew that wasn’t what he was looking for.

“…But I think it’s because…the one who blended this tea…” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, a small smile and timid blush spreading across his face. “…She remembers the time we spent together under the Kachnar blossoms.”


	7. Under the Kachnar Blossoms

_She was so warm and comfortable that she never wanted to move. There were soft, kind voices nearby, and though they were unfamiliar, she did not feel threatened. She didn't have to know where she was to know that she was safe now._

_Slowly, as she woke, she allowed her mind to return to the events of the previous night. She remembered the boy who had rescued her, and how he had happily carried her through the rain and mud. The memories brought a smile to her face and gave her the determination to sit and greet the morning, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and stretching her legs deeper into the quilts._

_When she had yawned the last of her sleepiness away, there was an excited shout and in one great bound, the boy from her memories landed on the bed on top of her. Sprouting the widest grin she had ever seen, he chirped an extremely enthusiastic, "Hello!"_

_She yelped in surprise, jumping, and her alarm sent him back a few feet. He was now perched on the footboard of the bed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Did I wake you up? Sorry,” he said, but he sounded far more excited than sorry._

_She studied the boy thoroughly now that she could see him in the light. She had thought that her memories of his hair had been exaggerated, but she was quite surprised to find that they hadn’t been. It really was that spiky, standing up every which-way except for the tame long bangs that fell around his face. He seemed to be about her age, or slightly older, with sky blue eyes gleaming with life and energy. And, she thought with a slight blush, he was kind of cute._

_She opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was three sneezes in quick succession. After she was done, she sniffed. She was really stuffed up, and her head felt unusually warm too._

_“Ma, I think she has a cold.”_

_“Anyone would catch cold after being out so long in that weather.” A woman’s hands reached from behind her to put a cool cloth over her forehead. She sighed deeply. It was scented with something that cleared her nose and throat a little bit. “That better?”_

_“Thank you,” she breathed, leaning back against the headboard. The woman pulled her back into a sitting position and fussed with the pillow at her back, plumping it with a few firm pats and pulls and then pushing her gently into it. She accepted the care hesitantly, trying not to be awkward; it had been a long time since she had had such little details taken care of for her._

_“Glad to see you’re up!” the woman said. She was middle-aged, with short black hair, streaked with hints of silver. She dressed simply, in only a plain purple dress and an apron. Now that she had the presence of mind to notice, the entire home was plain. It was only one circular, gray stone room, and besides the bed she rested in, there were only a few pieces of furniture – a dresser with a vase of flowers and a few photos in a frame, and a round table in the center of the room on top of a large rug. Still, the large window let in plenty of light, and though there was not much, she could feel that it was home._

_“Welcome to our home,” the woman continued, smiling kindly. “I hear that the two of you had quite an adventure last night!”_

_“I saved you!” the boy said with an enormous grin._

_She nodded, an unintended sneeze following the gesture. “T-Thank you, sir, miss.” Her voice was small and hoarse._

_The woman laughed kindly. “You are very polite.” She reached forward to tenderly tuck her bangs behind her ears. “But you don’t need to be formal here. You can call me Mrs. Fair, and this little ‘sir’ is Zack.”_

_“I like ‘sir’. It’s what they called knights!” Zack said. “And I’m gonna be a hero soon so it’s perfect!”  
_

_“Well, Sir Zack,” his mother said, patient in the face of his enthusiasm and energy, “perhaps you should get a glass of water for this pretty little lady.”_

_“Right!” Zack agreed, and he bounded out of doors._

_“Where is he going now?” his mother wondered aloud quietly. “The well, maybe? But there’s water here….” She shook her head and turned back to her young visitor._

_“You’ve done so much for him, you know,” she said. “All his life he’s been packing around that kit of his looking for adventure, and then you fall into his life.” She adjusted the cloth on the girl’s forehead with motherly grace. “I don’t know what circumstances brought you here, but I thank you for the happiness that you have brought to my son. He finally got to play the part of the hero.”_

_“Ma!” Zack said, reentering the house holding up a glass of something purple. “Rei had juice! That's even better than plain old water!”_

_“Thank you,” the girl in the bed said softly, still hoarse. She hesitated, but finished with “…Sir Zack.”_

_The boy flushed all shades of red, but his eyes were sparkling and he smiled as if she had just made his life. His smile was so wide that she swore she could see all the way to his molars. “No problem! It’s a hero’s job, after all!”_

_Zack handed her the juice and she sipped gratefully. It was thick, sweet, and heavy, but the liquid soothed the burn in her throat on the way down and filled her stomach with warmth. She eagerly drank it down, savoring each mouthful only briefly._

_“So we’ve introduced ourselves, but we still don’t know what to call you.” His mother took the empty glass from her._

_“I’m Hana,” she said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”_

_"Let’s go play, Hana!” Zack said in a rush, doing little jumps and running in place in his excitement. “We can go explore the jungle together! I know this great place where we can catch grubs and frogs and—“_

_"Slow down, Zack,” his mother said, putting her hand on his head to still him. “Part of adventuring is patiently waiting for your friends to feel up to the next challenge.”_

_All the energy rushed out of the boy. “Oh.” Judging from what she’d seen, Hana guessed that energy was his strong suit, not patience._

_"But I have to go!” Hana cried._

_Zack and his mother both turned to her in confusion. “You’ve got a cold, Hana. You need to stay and recover your strength.”_

_“Why do you have to go?” Zack said with a pout. “Stay with me!”_

_Zack’s mother waited for a reply, but did not push when one was not offered, tucking the covers around her instead. “Rest for now, at least until nightfall. We’ll talk once Zack’s father gets home. In the meantime,” she turned now to her son, “someone has a garden to weed.”_

_“Awww Ma! But I want to—“_

_"After the garden, Zack.” She was kind but very firm, and Zack, hanging his head like a dejected puppy, went off to his chores._          

_Hana laid back down and closed her eyes. Zack’s mother replaced the cloth on her forehead with a fresh one, and she sighed happily in thanks. Under the heavy quilt, wrapped in warmth in the walls of a real home, she drifted, and then slept._

* * *

 

_“I have to go,” was the first thing Hana said when she woke up. She didn’t know exactly how long she had slept, but the sunlight through the window was more orange than yellow and the sun was low on the horizon. Zack was still gone, but his mother was attending to dinner._

_When she heard her, Zack’s mother put down her cooking and came to sit beside her on the bed. “My husband called,” she said. “At work he found someone who was looking for his young Wutaian daughter, and I assumed it was you. Did you get separated from your father?”_

_Hana’s face went deathly white, and despite herself, she began to cry. She shook, shoulders heaving with great sobs._

_“Hana? Hana, what is it?”_

_“I—I—I was trying to run a-a-way from him….”_

_“Hana,” Mrs. Fair said, alarmed. “Then…your scars…” Her face fell as she began to comprehend Hana’s reaction to the news. “And now he knows you’re here….”_

_Mrs. Fair didn’t remain somber any longer than it took her to understand. Her face hardened in resolve. “Zack,” she called loudly. “Come inside, quickly!”_

_Zack came in, looking guilty. “I didn’t do it!” he insisted. “It wasn’t me!”  
_

_“Zack, get your adventure pack. You and Hana are going on a mission. A real, serious mission. It’s not a game anymore. Hana’s freedom and safety are at stake. Are you ready to be a real hero, Zack?”_

_Zack stood there looking at the two of them, blinking sky blue eyes several times. Confusion put aside, he stood at attention and saluted, shouting “Yes, ma’am!” before scurrying off to find his pack._

_"They’re coming here.” Zack’s mother explained to Hana. “I can’t contact my husband to let him know what’s going on, so I’ll tell them that you and Zack went on a trip across the ferry. It should give you a few hours to get a head start. Do you know where you can go, Hana? Do you have somewhere that you can be safe?”_

_Hana shook her head no. Mrs. Fair’s eyes softened in sorrow._

_“Then we’ll lead them away and bring you back here. Zack,” she turned now to her son, who was stuffing more things into an already overflowing pack, “what’s the best hiding place you can think of? As deep in the jungle as you can go, and far from here.”_

_Zack’s eyebrows drew together as he thought, but he soon perked up as an idea struck him. “Yes! I know a perfect, beautiful place!”_

_“Can she stay there for a few days?”_

_"Yeah! It will be lots of fun!”_

_“Then start packing all the things she’ll need to stay. I’ll prepare food and water.”_

_“Yes ma’am!”_

_The small home was a flurry of activity. Zack’s mother quickly prepared simple food, enough to last her at least a week. Occasionally, she reminded Zack of various things to pack as he rummaged around the house at a million miles a minute._

_“But Mrs. Fair,” Hana said as she took the large sack filled with food. “He’s dangerous!”  
_

_"You let the adults handle this, Hana. We will take care of you. You just need to hide in the jungle for a while.” Mrs. Fair crouched down to meet Hana at eye-level. “And then, when he’s gone, come back and be a part of our family. Zack would love to have a little sister.”_

_Hana’s eyes widened and misted over. She looked dazed, disbelieving. “You’ll be my family?”_

_"No child should have to live in fear, Hana,” she said solemnly. “We’ll protect you and take care of you, I promise._

_“Zack,” Mrs. Fair called again. “Go knock on doors and tell the villagers that if they see your father, they need to distract him. Have Chad go over supply shipments with him, anything! But keep it casual and discreet!”_

_“What’s ‘discreet’, Ma?”_

_“…Just tell the villagers that word. Hurry! Run as fast as you can!”_

_Zack was only gone for a few minutes before he returned, just as the sun was beginning to disappear behind the horizon. “Chad and Mandy and Sara can all help be discreet.”_

_Zack’s mother paid no heed, only helped the boy to shoulder his large adventure pack. “Now take her to that place. Run straight there and don’t stop. Take smaller paths or tread your way through the weeds whenever you can. Neither of you come back for at least two full days. When it’s safe to return, I’ll hang a white handkerchief in the window._ Do not _enter the house again unless you see that handkerchief, and stay out of the village!”_

_“Wow, a two-day mission? Cool!”_

_Mrs. Fair took her son by the shoulders. “Zack, I need you to be serious. I don’t think you understand that this is real danger. You’ve never known it before. Can you be grown up and brave for me and protect her?”_

_Zack frowned slightly. “Of course,” he said, as if offended._

_“Then go!”_

_Zack took Hana’s hand and they ran straight into the foliage of the jungles of Gongaga._

_As difficult as it was to do while she ran, Hana faced the little house in the village for as long as she could, not ever wanting to let that home and the hope it offered her out of her sight._

_When she tore her eyes away at last, she closed them for a moment, cementing the memory in her mind. She knew it was the last time she would ever see that place._

* * *

 

_Hana ran in silence, but Zack was very comfortable talking to her anyway. Perhaps at another time his idle, friendly chatter might have soothed her worried heart, but now it only served to depress her more._

_She could not put Zack or his parents._

_She used the free arm that Zack was not pulling her along by to bat at the tears leaking from her eyes._

I could have had a family…

_Instead, she focused her thoughts on the journey. It was rough terrain. With every step she trod over foliage - creeping vines, leaves, shrubs, mushrooms – and she was amazed at the diversity of life around her. She’d never seen such a vast array of plants, and the trees were filled with the calls of new and strange animals. Even the air was different here, humid and heavy, but with thousands of nameless smells. There was so much life here, strange and new as another world._

_They were headed north, and Zack had told her that the ferry was to the west of the village. Though that left little danger of them being spotted, especially if they kept off the trails, it was still nerve-wracking, knowing that if something went wrong her father could be behind any tree, waiting._

_“…They’re so huge! I can’t wait for you to see them. Well, they’re not as big as the surrounding trees. And there’s a clearing nearby where we can make a fire and roast mushrooms! I know which ones are safe to eat, and there will be so many! And a stream! Dad says there aren’t any fish in it but I don’t believe him. It may rain, but I have a tent, and it’s nice and sturdy. We’ll be nice and warm inside and eat hot fish and mushrooms and sandwiches….”_

_She really didn’t ignore Zack on purpose, but she had too much on her mind to listen to his chatter. She was still very, very grateful for his company._

_“Zack?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_She had to do it soon, before she lost her nerve. “The man chasing me…my father. He’s really scary. Really dangerous. You should go back and make sure your parents are safe.”_

_Zack stopped and looked at her, confused. “But Ma said—“_

_“Please, Zack! You’ve been so kind to me, I couldn’t stand it if you got hurt because of me!” She let her tears flow. She didn’t even have to fake them or the tremor in her voice. “You have to help your parents,_ please _!”_

_“But what about you? What about the mission?”_

_“I’ll be fine hiding in the jungle. Leave me the food and supplies and I’ll take care of myself. You can come get me when it’s safe or I’ll come back and find you.”_

_Zack frowned. “You can take care of yourself?”_

Now _he thinks to be practical, she thought with a sigh. “Yes, I’ve been on my own for a long time. I know how to make a fire and catch fish and gather mushrooms, just like you.”_

_“Well okay,” he said. “If Ma and Pa need me then I have to go. But let me show you the trees! Stay there, it’s the nicest, prettiest place in the jungle. You’ll love it so much! It’s not far, let’s go!”_

_After only a few more moments of breakneck pace, they broke into the area he spoke of, and Hana’s vision was washed with pink and white._

_The trees were very tall, as Zack had said, though still shorter than the surrounding trees, a pocket of color in a green world. Instead of leaves, however, the trees sprouted millions of five-petaled, orchid shaped flowers as big as her hand, so thick and numerous that she could not see into the heart of the tree. Many were white, but still more were a soft pink or deep magenta. Some were kissed lightly with clusters of tiny veins running like pink paint over a canvas. She could smell their soft, floral aroma on the breeze._

_She was speechless before such majesty._

_With these beautiful sentinels protecting her, surely no one could ever find her._

_"Climb up!” Zack urged her, taking hold of a low branch himself. “It’s even better inside, and no one will be able to see you!”_

_Hana followed, taking hold and jumping up close behind her friend._

_Zack found a good, sturdy branch strong enough to hold the both of them and took a seat, legs dangling off one side of the branch. Hana followed suit, falling against him for a moment as she lost her balance, blushing, and scooting away abashed._

_She was surrounded by the blossoms, pink and white dancing above, around, and below her. The orange light of the sunset spilled in through the leaves and petals, setting them ablaze in a warm glow. The sun’s last light was all she could see of the outside jungle at all. It was an ethereal feeling. Everything she sensed was the blossoms - they were even in the air she breathed. She felt petals fall to caress her face, soft as silk, as she rested against the rough but secure and sturdy bark and listened to the soft whispers as they sighed in the breeze._

_And that unforgettable scent lulled her into serenity with every breath._

_She was safe. Really, truly, blissfully safe._

_"I knew you’d like it,” Zack said, quieter than before. Even he could sense the reverent beauty of this place. “You can stay here. You’ll be safe in these Kachnar trees. No one will even see you.”_

Kachnar _. The name tasted as sweet on her tongue as their fragrance in the air._

_“Thank you,” Hana said, tears of joy prickling at her eyes. “This is the most beautiful moment I’ve ever had.”_

_Zack smiled, serene, energy bridled for the moment._

_"After it’s safe for you, I’ll take you here every day. It will be our secret base, and we can have lots of adventures together!”_

_The Fair family’s kindness was sweeter even than the blossoms. This world of beauty would not have been the same without the mother and the little boy who had protected her._

_“You’re my hero, Zack.” She threw her arms around him. “I’ll never forget this. Never, never, never.”_

_Zack hugged her back, squeezing her tight. “Stay here and be safe, then come back and be my sister forever!” With a wink and a parting wave, he was gone, disappearing back into the green jungle. “I’ll be back soon!” she heard him call as he softly vanished from her world._

_Hana stayed, resting in this sanctuary for a while longer. There was no more sadness, only resolve. It had been a miracle that she had even been able to taste of this heaven for a day, and she was grateful. Maybe someday it would be different. Maybe someday she could return. Until that day, even knowing that she had a place in the Fair family was enough to sustain her._

_Slowly, carefully, she picked blossoms from the tree – bud, leaf, and petal all together. She would take some with her so she would never forget, not even on the darkest of days. She breathed deeply, taking in everything._

_The scent was ambrosia._

_She would never, ever forget._

_And so, for the sake of her new family, she descended the tree, ready to face her father once again, without sorrow for her fate, only resolve to meet it with strength enough to protect the ones she held dear._

_"Don’t be sad, Zack,” she whispered into the jungle. “You’ve given me so much more than you’ll ever know, brother.”_

* * *

 

He knew as soon as she came out of the door.

It _was_ her.

Reason left. Genesis was still there, and Sephiroth was just inside his office door. He didn’t care.

Breathlessly, he threw himself forward and embraced her with all his strength. She softly cried out, alarmed, but he didn’t care. He pressed her to his chest so tightly that she was struggling to breathe.

“ _Hana_ , you’re alive! I thought…I thought…what was I supposed to think?! You just left without a word and never came back! _You were supposed to come back!!_ Do you have any idea what you…what I…I thought you were _dead_!” He didn’t know whether he was more angry or happy. Years of emotions he thought he had worked through long ago resurfaced. “Do you know what that does to a kid? I was so…for _months_!”

Hana relaxed, and understanding flooded her eyes. “Zack?” she said. Then, with a smile spread across her face, “Zack!”

Zack let her go and stepped back, out of breath as if he’d been running.

“Why?” he asked in a whisper. “Why…did you go?”

Hana did not answer, only embraced him fondly. “Zack…I’m so glad we could meet again, brother.”

Zack’s anger disappeared, and with a smile he returned her hug.

“Yeah,” he said, patting her back affectionately. “Me too, sis.”


	8. Under the Radar

Genesis had a very smug smile on his face when he pulled Sephiroth’s office door closed behind him. “Well, that was interesting, wasn’t it?”

Sephiroth said nothing, writing with furious speed but looking intensely bored and disinterested. He didn’t so much as look up to greet Genesis.

“You can’t tell me you didn’t just hear that little exchange between your wife and Angeal’s puppy.”

“That was Angeal’s protégé?” Sephiroth put down his pen and reached for his seal. There were no less than three official stamps on that paper, to which Sephiroth added his own. Whatever he was working on, it was important stuff.

“In the very flesh.”

“Hmph.” Sephiroth refolded the paper along lines already present and sealed it in an envelope. “I can’t say I’m impressed.”

Genesis grinned. “I’m glad we agree.” He sat himself in the seat in front of Sephiroth’s desk. The man was scrupulously organized. For all of the documents he had on his desk, there was a place and order in a specific stack for each one. Other than the papers, there were only a few office supplies in a silver tray, a phone, a desk lamp, and a spherical paperweight of polished onyx, engraved with the ShinRa logo in gold, resting on a red velvet cloth.

Sephiroth returned his seal to the desk drawer and locked it with a key, then rose to his feet and went to his metal file-cabinet with a small stack of papers. He unlocked the cabinet and opened the top drawer, filing the papers away with quick and precise movements, working from the front of the drawer to the back. The man was like a machine.

“You’re not jealous at all?”

“What reason would I have to be jealous?”

“Your wife was just pounced on by another man,” Genesis said coolly. “Literally. Any lesser man would probably have gotten defensive.”

“His reaction seems reasonable.” Sephiroth finished with the first drawer, shutting it with another screech and pulling open the second. “He believed her to be dead. And we know how excitable he gets from Angeal’s stories. Furthermore, he seems to think of her in strictly familial sense. Even if it had not been so,” Sephiroth looked at Genesis despite not being done, smirking, “I am far above being threatened by _Zack_ the _puppy_.”

Genesis scoffed as Sephiroth returned to filing. “You didn’t even _react_ , even before you knew the whole situation. Even for you, that’s cold.”

Sephiroth didn’t say a word as he closed the third drawer and locked the cabinet, his stack of papers gone.

“Did you and Hana have a spat?” Genesis asked. “She brought you an awfully nice lunch.” He didn’t know what the food on Sephiroth’s desk was, but it smelled delicious, even though he didn’t usually care for Wutaian food.

“We had a disagreement last night.”

“You barely seem affected.”

"Hmph. Surely you are not just now figuring out that our relationship is hardly normal.”

So at least he knew it too.

“What’s the food?” Genesis asked.

“Korokke,” Sephiroth said, sitting back in his desk chair. “Fried potato and meat croquettes, with some sort of Wutaian sauce on top, and cabbage salad. I don’t even know how she managed to make them with how few kitchen supplies I have.”

Genesis remembered the small pot she had used to boil the water for their tea and the single burner. She would have had to make them one or two at a time, and there were twelve in his lunch, arranged in a pyramid surrounded by cabbage leaves shaped like the petals of a lotus. It was definitely the kind of over-the-top detail that signaled a plea for forgiveness.

“Impressive,” Genesis said, helping himself to one of the croquettes. Sephiroth sent him a disapproving glance but did not object, taking one for himself instead.

There was a knock on the door before Angeal let himself in. “Welcome to the party,” Genesis greeted. “Have some of Hana’s cooking. They’re really good. Apparently she’s making up for a little spat they had last night.” Sephiroth glared at Genesis, who was not only offering his lunch to Angeal, but helping himself to another three.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Angeal said and took one, ignoring the waves of Sephiroth’s disapproval. “Do you want to talk about it, Sephiroth?”

“No.”

“All right, then. What is Hana doing today?”

“Training,” Sephiroth said, taking the korokke and moving them right in front of him, away from his two friends. He took another. They went fast, each only large enough for two or three bites. “Tseng of the Turks is teaching her to use a gun.”

Angeal frowned and was about to inquire further, but he bit into the croquette, and that wiped his frown straight off. “Holy….” he sighed in pleasure as he chewed.

“She’s also evading the advances of your puppy, Angeal,” Genesis added. “Poor thing. Good thing she’s learning to shoot.”

“Zack is doing _what_?”

Sephiroth, despite knowing the truth, did not correct him. Genesis was pleased. Sometimes, _sometimes_ , they could scheme together. And until Angeal found out the real story, it might make for an extremely amusing situation.

“You said he had a thing for girls, but I didn’t think even _he_ was _that_ stupid,” Genesis added as icing on the cake. He had to reach out very far, but still managed to swipe two more croquettes.

Angeal covered his face with his hand in despair. “Sephiroth, please don’t dismember my pupil…yet. I’ll take care of it.”

“Hmph,” was all Sephiroth said.

Genesis was as happy as a clown. This would be so much fun. At the very least, Zack would get the “SOLDIER honor” lecture of his life.

He’d have to find a way to thank Sephiroth later.

“We have evaluations to attend,” Sephiroth said, and the food had magically disappeared. Genesis was suspicious, as the plate was gone too.

“The bi-annual scurrying of the Seconds,” Genesis agreed in a flat voice. “I am truly thrilled.” He got up and made his way to the door. “You coming, General?”

“It’s not like I have any choice in the matter,” Sephiroth said, tucking the sealed envelope from earlier into his jacket.

“Brighten up,” Genesis said. “Maybe something interesting will happen. Speaking of which, Angeal, you never told us that it was _your_ pupil that lost his pants last time.”

“Can you blame me?” Angeal asked, looking very sober. As the three friends exited the office, Angeal pulled the door closed behind them.

“I could have been jabbing that in your face for six whole months by now, my friend. You have deprived me of most precious fun.”

“You are twisted.”

Sephiroth was going to lock the door when Genesis spoke up. “Hey, I think I left something in there.”

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow in suspicion but turned the knob to open the door for him.

Genesis knew that Sephiroth couldn’t have finished all that food by himself so quickly. He wasn’t a glutton; he ate in small, proper bites. And Sephiroth hadn’t gotten up until now so the leftovers had to be near his desk.

He found it on the seat of the chair, hidden, as it had been pushed in. There was one solitary korokke left amid a few last cabbage petals. Before Sephiroth could react, Genesis pushed the whole thing into his mouth – a little bit of a stretch, but not so much that it was truly vulgar. He chewed openly as he sauntered back to the door, pulling it closed behind him, ignoring the glares of both of his friends.

When he had made a show of swallowing it all, he grinned at Sephiroth and said simply, “I win.”

* * *

 

_Bang!_

The sound still made her jump.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Hana sighed and put the gun down. Even with the ear muffs that Tseng had given her, the noise startled her every time. Even the fact that she was in full control of the timing of the shots didn’t make it any better. She hadn’t acclimated as Tseng said she would. Every shot was just as bad as the last.

“I hate guns,” she seethed under her breath. Tseng made a motion for her to remove her ear muffs. She did so, frustrated, and knowing she would explode if Tseng chose to lecture her now.

“It may take time,” Tseng said, calm as dawn. Did anything ever get under this guy’s skin? “You’re doing fairly well considering it’s only your first day.”

“Can I have a silencer, at least?”

“They don’t help as much as you’d think, and you need to get used to the sound. If you are ever in a gun fight, being so alarmed by the sounds is a serious weakness. You can’t let them take the advantage that way.”

“So you’ll take away my ear muffs, too?”

“Eventually, yes. You’re not likely to have them in real combat, and you need to be prepared for the way it’s really going to be.”

Hana grimaced and picked up the gun, putting on the ear muffs. Even though she felt like they did little good, she might as well enjoy them while she had them.

She was shooting at paper silhouettes shaped like human bodies. Every time she hit, light spilled through the hole the bullet made, making her successes, or lack thereof, extremely obvious. So far, she’d managed to hit one in the arm and another in the lower torso. Five more of her bullets had not even hit.

“Focus on accuracy first,” Tseng reminded her. “Speed can come later. One good shot is all it takes.”

Obediently, but grimacing the whole time, Hana slowed down. She shot six bullets. Four found their mark at least somewhere on the cutouts, if not anywhere vital.

“Better,” Tseng observed. “You might have hit with the last two if your jumping didn’t skew your aim.”

Hana resisted the urge to glower. The one who was _really_ responsible for this misery was her husband. She couldn’t fault Tseng.

“Is that all for today?” she asked, hopefully.

Tseng chuckled softly. “Are you confident you could defend yourself if your assailant came tonight?”

“I could hit him _somewhere_ ,” Hana said, gesturing to the random holes in the silhouette.

“If he was stationary, and you had all the time you wanted to react, neither of which is likely. You haven’t yet proven that you could neutralize a threat,” Tseng said. “And Sephiroth did say that your situation was urgent.”

“I’m supposed to learn everything today?”

Tseng shook his head. “It is a bit unrealistic, but I’ll at least introduce you to the concepts. I’m going to turn on the motion, slowly at first. Try to hit as many as you can while I try to find you a better gun.”

Tseng entered a series of numbers on a keypad and a machine whirred to life. The silhouettes began to move, rather realistically. They were following unpredictable paths in all directions, sometimes stopping or changing orientation.

“Aim for the one with the green light on his forehead. Consider the others distractions.”

One of the silhouettes lit up green, clearly visible until he moved behind several others.

Hana grit her teeth and aimed.

_Bang. Bang._

She caught his right arm just as he moved into view, but the second shot didn’t hit.

Tseng was gone. She lowered her gun to her side and looked at the wound in the silhouette, bright light spilling from the small hole in the arm.

She had done it. She had hit. She wanted that to be all.

But shooting at bodies would be different. It wouldn’t be a burst of light that would be the signal when she hit her target. The thought made her stomach roll.

And now she was calm. When the attack came, she would be a wad of adrenaline and tangled nerves. If she could focus enough to even look down the barrel into the sight, it would be a miracle.

“Not everyone was cut out to fight, Sephiroth,” Hana said.

She closed her eyes and tensed her body to its limit, and then breathed out the tension. As much as she hated it, she knew Sephiroth was right. Her father would find her when she was alone.

_“I have seen miserably incompetent men find their strength,”_ Sephiroth had told her. _“I recognize that for some it takes more than for others, but I will not let you get out of this on the excuse that you simply cannot be trained. Surely there’s something in you that can be of use.”_

A face flashed before her mind’s eye, and she felt her blood run hot.

Her father had tormented her from the beginning. As a child, she had taken it. She could not do anything else. Then, as she had grown, she had learned to run. Now, as an adult, she finally had the power to _fight_. She clenched the gun in her hand. This was a weapon – this was _power_.

The silhouette with the green light flashed into her view, and her father’s face appeared again in her mind. With power born from sheer hatred surging through her veins, she raised the gun and shot three times, her hand steady, her aim true. Three small holes, close together, let light spill freely from the place marked red on the target – the heart.

She felt nothing. No victory, no relief.

Nothing.

For now, she thought, all she had to use to steady her hands and aim was her hatred. It would appease her husband and Tseng, at least.

Somewhere inside, she was mortified that she did not feel guilty that, had that been her father, she would have certainly killed him. She stifled the emotion with the assurance that she had long ago passed out of the world where mercy was an option.

* * *

 

Sephiroth’s phone vibrated and he took it from his pocket. It was a photo message, sent from Tseng.

“Don’t the bigwigs know not to bother you while you’re doing evaluations?” Genesis asked, leaning back in his seat until the top of the back of his chair was pressed against the wall. The three friends sat side-by-side in the observation booth, watching the exhausted second-class SOLDIERs trickle into the simulation room as they finished their individual assessments.

“It is odd,” Angeal agreed.

Sephiroth made an odd noise in his throat that might have been either approval or annoyance. Without a word, he passed his phone to Angeal.

Angeal stared for several seconds. “Hana did _that_?”

Genesis, impatient as ever, looked over Angeal’s shoulder at the photo of a shooting range training dummy. There was no text because none was needed. Three bullet holes pierced straight through the heart. “It’s her first day? Sign her up for the Turks!”

Sephiroth’s phone vibrated again in Angeal’s hand. “New message from TSENG,” it read. Angeal opened the text and read aloud. “I sent her home after this. She was beginning to behave strangely.”

“What in Gaia does that mean?” Genesis asked.

Sephiroth, unaffected by the message, didn't skip a beat. “Tell Tseng that I’ll send Hana back tomorrow.”

Angeal and Genesis stared at Sephiroth, who was suddenly very engaged in scanning the observation forms. The two friends knew when they’d been shut out.   

Angeal sent a message back to Tseng, as requested. _“This is Angeal_ ,” he wrote, _“and I’ll make sure Sephiroth takes care of Hana before he sends her back for more.”_

_"Very good,”_ was Tseng’s prompt reply.

“How many more are we waiting on?” Genesis asked.

“Two or three,” Sephiroth said. “It will start soon.”

“Looks like the puppy was the last to take his individuals,” Genesis said. “That puts him at an automatic disadvantage.” Because the group assessment immediately followed individual testing, the last ones to start ended up without a break between the two sessions to refresh and catch their breaths.

“He has enough stamina to get through it,” Sephiroth said. “If that boy has anything, it’s energy.”

“Thanks,” Angeal said. “I think.” But they all knew it wasn’t really meant to be a compliment.

“There he is now,” Genesis said, gesturing. “Pants intact, even.”

Angeal sent a disapproving glance toward Genesis but it was not heeded. Through clearly winded, Zack was standing taller than some of the other men. Overall, he seemed to be in pretty good shape and very high spirits, even doing some more squats for good measure while pepping up some of his fellow men.

“That’s all of them, then.”

“Great. Let’s make them scurry.”

“You could give Zack three more sec—“

But Genesis hit the switch before Angeal could finish. The room behind the one-way glass went dark. Each SOLDIER put on his virtual reality goggles, and one by one, they all entered the system. A red ID number appeared above their heads as they came online, and the light strips running along the limbs of their training uniforms made them visible in the darkness. Angeal played with a few dials, adjusting the visuals in the observation booth so they could see the same virtual environment that the men were immersed in.  

This year’s program was especially difficult. Genesis, Angeal, and Sephiroth had drafted it themselves, and then submitted it to the programmers with Genesis’s instructions to “add more flare wherever possible.” The setting was a desert, with elements set to drain the men before they even started to fight. They would feel the oppressive heat as if it was real, and every step would be harder for them in the deep sand. There was little cover, leaving them wide open and exposed.

The three first-classmen readied their pens. Though numbers were used to keep them from knowing the identities of everyone in the room, Zack was easily distinguishable from the rest as number 34. The assessments were simple – the three just had to comment on what they saw, whether good or bad. Some men got few comments, as they didn’t stand out enough, which was just as bad as getting slammed with criticism if you wanted to make First-class. So the rules for the men were simple – respond admirably to the situation, and prove to a First-class SOLDIER that you deserved to be among their ranks.

Nothing had even happened yet, the men were just orienting themselves, deciding what to do in the situation. Their voices were played very clearly for the three judges to hear. What they didn’t know was that they needed to decide on a leader within 15 seconds or less or they would be scattered by a horde of rampaging monsters like pigeons at the park.

Zack’s eyes were sharp, and he was the first to spot the trouble. “Over there!” he yelled. “Follow me!” And the men did, charging with him as he rushed to meet the shadows on the horizon for an impromptu offensive.

And so it began.

Angeal tried to give at least a little feedback for every man, trying to be honest without being unkind and balance the negative with the positive. He felt really sorry for the poor men who got Genesis’s attention, who only gave out “praise” in the form of scathing sarcasm. If Genesis said nothing about you, it was usually a good sign. It meant he’d found nothing about you to make fun of.

Sephiroth was a different story entirely. Everything he said was excruciatingly fair, but he never said much. Even though he kept the strictest observation of the three, he wrote the fewest comments. He didn’t bother to write anything unless he considered it very worth his time. He was also lucky to give out one or two compliments per session. Praise from Sephiroth meant promotion was pretty much assured.

And so, Angeal was very worried when he turned his head to see how Sephiroth was doing, only to find the Silver General’s eyes riveted on his pupil. He let it go the first time, but after the fourth time, he was starting to get worried. It was clear both from his intense gaze and the comments filling the box for SOLDIER #34 that Sephiroth only had eyes for Zack this time, and he was picking apart every single move, recording it in detail.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t do that. There were really no regulations on how they should judge, only suggestions. Even if there had been rules, Sephiroth was such a figure of power that if he wanted to bend them, he could.

It made Angeal extremely nervous that Sephiroth was taking such uncharacteristic interest in his pupil. Whether Zack knew it or not, his performance in the next few minutes was his opportunity to either permanently make or break his dreams of making First-class.

_"Focus, for once in your life,”_ Angeal silently prayed for his student.


	9. In the Silence

“ _Okaerinasai_ ,” Hana said as Sephiroth stepped into his apartment.

The call made him pause. It was a strange feeling to be welcomed home, and by his wife, nonetheless. It was a reminder that his new life with her would take a lot of getting used to.

“ _Tadaima_ ,” he returned, belatedly, as he was well aware. He set his keys and a small stack of files on the kitchen table. Hana’s voice had come from his old study – now her bedroom, he reminded himself. He turned to see her inside the open doorway, on her knees, folding her clothes neatly. He had yet to get her proper shelves, but she was making do with tidy piles in the corners of the old study. Her clothes were beautiful, vibrant in both color and pattern, and they added a life of their own to the room, decorations in their own right, especially when there was nothing else in there but her neatly rolled futon.

“How was your day?” Hana asked, briefly looking up from her folding. Her hands and arms moved fluidly, rhythmically, with as much grace in her housework as in her dancing. She was on her best palace behavior.

“Rather uneventful,” Sephiroth said. He supposed that his own formality followed naturally from hers. He would not upset the balance. “And yours?”

“The same,” she said, placing a sunshine-yellow yukata on the top of one of the piles. “Except for running into Zack, I suppose.”

_And training with Tseng_. But Sephiroth knew better than to remind her of that. Tseng had said she was upset when she left. “How do you know Zack?” He took particular care to voice it as an inquiry, not an accusation.

“He found me when I collapsed during one of my escapes. His family took me in, and helped to hide me when my father came looking. They asked me to be a member of the family.” She smiled softly, neatly folding her hands in her lap and looking at them wistfully. “I couldn’t let them take my fall.”

“You surrendered yourself to your father, then.”

“He would have killed them all.”

Sephiroth didn’t deny it. “Does Zack know this?”

“All he knows is that I disappeared. I didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t go back.”

“Did he run into your father at all?”

Hana sighed deeply. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened on his end at all. I guess it’s possible. My father was in their home when I returned there, but I don’t know if Zack had made it back by then or not.”

“Zack will have to be sworn to secrecy then. He may know.” Sephiroth exited the room and went back to the table, grabbing a file and leafing through the contents.

Hana rose to her feet and leaned against the doorway to her room. “You don’t have to threaten him. He’s like my brother. He’ll do it willingly. We can trust him.”

Sephiroth put down the file, gently closing it with his fingertips. “As much as I hate to take a risk on a boy you knew more than ten years ago for only one day, it appears that we have no choice.”

Hana pursed her lips but said nothing. The space between them was still raw and sore from their argument last night.

Sephiroth opened a silver case on the kitchen table to find a black handgun. “This is your weapon?” he asked, picking it up and examining it.

“Yes. Its name is _Baka_.”

Sephiroth smiled wryly, unseen, as his back was still to her. He flipped open the magazine to examine the ammunition, then reloaded and looked down the barrel and through the sight. “It’s a good gun,” he said. “It might even outmatch some of the Turks'.”

“How much did you have to pay them for that?” she asked.

“Little, actually. They owed me.”

“Owed _you_?”

Sephiroth chuckled, a quiet, dark sound. “A certain Turk has an unhealthy obsession with causing me trouble. One of his schemes went too far and caused significant damages to my personal property.”

She was grateful for the lighter note and his small laugh. Even those little things were like aloe on a burn. Nothing was truly healed between them, but the humor eased the sting.

Hana looked around the house. It was still slightly disorganized due to her remodeling, but there was nothing obviously broken or missing, and she’d just been in his office that afternoon, and it was as immaculately clean and tidy as he normally kept his home. What had been destroyed, she wondered?

She was about to ask when there was a knock on the door. As if called to attention, her lazy posture straightened. “Were you expecting someone?” she asked.

“No,” Sephiroth said as he went to answer the door. He unlatched the bolt and pulled the door open. “…But I might have guessed.”

“Sorry to intrude unannounced,” Angeal’s voice said. “Especially if I’m interrupting something?”

Sephiroth did not respond to that but left the door open for his friend as he sat himself on the living room couch. Angeal considered himself admitted and let himself in, smiling warmly at Hana. “Good evening,” he said, bending down to awkwardly pull off his boots with only one hand, as the other was holding a plain cardboard box. “Been a day, hasn’t it?”

Hana nodded. “Welcome,” she said. “Have a seat, I’ll make you tea.”

“Ah, before you get to that,” Angeal held the box out toward her, “you might want to open this.”

“Oh, Angeal, you didn’t have to!” Still, Hana came forward and took the gift from him so he could use both hands to get his shoes off.

 “I heard that Genesis beat me to the punch,” Angeal said. “But congratulations.” He looked over at Sephiroth on the couch and added, “To the both of you.” Hana sat down with the gift at the kitchen table, then went to work on the tape sealing the box closed.

“Hmph,” Sephiroth said. “The two of you are making such a fuss out of this.”

“It’s all right. I’m pretty sure it’s in the fine print of any marriage contract that the bride and groom must be fussed over.”

“I would have seen it if it was.”

“It’s _implied_ , then. This is what friends do when friends get married. Genesis is mad he didn’t get to throw you a bachelor party, at least be grateful you got out of that."

Sephiroth grimaced, offended by the very thought, but Hana let out a gasp of surprise.

“Angeal!” she cried. “It’s…so _beautiful_!”

On her lap was a china tea kettle, soft turquoise and decorated with a white blossom and green vine print. Its fine workmanship was clear even to Sephiroth, who raised his eyebrows at the item. Hana stroked its surface gently, as if unbelieving that it was real. “I’ve never had one of my own. It’s so _perfect_. Thank you!”

“You should try it out,” Sephiroth said.

“Yes! I’ll make tea right away!” And she ran excitedly to the kitchenette to get started.

“That’s a lot of money,” Sephiroth said quietly, waiting until Hana was just out of earshot even though she was too happy and busy to eavesdrop anyway. “Especially for _you_.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Angeal said. “And tea is an art in Wutai. Genesis said it was nothing less than offensive to have her do it out of a common pot. Look at how happy she is. She’s like a kid again.”

Indeed, Hana’s entire face was radiating happiness, and she was singing songs in her native tongue. Sephiroth smiled softly. “You’re right. Thank you.”

“I’ll serve you just like I served Emperor Godo himself at the palace!” Hana said.

Angeal watched Sephiroth’s face as he, in turn, watched his wife. It wasn’t love in his eyes, or even particular fondness, of that he was certain, but there was _something_ there, something that he’d never seen in his friend before. Both men rested in the serenity that Hana's happiness had brought to the little apartment.

“You have been blessed,” Angeal said as the tea kettle began to whistle. “She’s a good woman. Strange as the circumstances might have been, I think she might turn out to be one of the best things that could have happened to you.”

“You speak too soon,” Sephiroth said. “ _Far_ too soon.”

The statement confused Angeal. “You haven’t resolved that argument with her yet?”

“Hmph.”

And then Hana came over to the coffee table, gliding as smoothly as a breeze, alighting before them and kneeling on ceremony. She set the tray with her teacups and the new kettle on the table, bowed, and then served them. Every movement, no matter how slight, from her shoulders to her wrists to her fingertips, was as choreographed as a dance, flowing grace transforming the actions from a task into an art.

“And they say Wutai doesn’t have magic,” Angeal said with a smile, bowing slightly at the waist as she did while he took his tea cup from where it was gently cupped in her palms.

Hana withdrew her hands and began to prepare the tea for her husband. When she offered it to him with the same formality, he cupped his own hands around hers, and as she slid away the tea was left in his hands. The touch had been no longer, perhaps even briefer, than her contact with Angeal had been. Sephiroth dipped his head in thanks and began to drink.

Watching the two of them was both fascinating and confusing. There was very clear, defined space between them, physically and socially. Though Angeal had not known Hana very long, he couldn’t think of a time when Sephiroth had treated her with anything indicating closeness. It wasn’t that he was harsh or unkind, but as far as Angeal could tell, their relationship was closer to resembling something between colleagues than the bond between a husband and wife.

_Awkward newlywed stage_ , Angeal reassured himself, but something about it unsettled him deeply. In the back of his mind, despite the serenity of the situation and the calming influence of the tea, a voice kept whispering that something was very, very wrong.

“I’ll never use anything else for tea again,” Hana said. “This is perfect. Thank you so much, Angeal!”

Angeal set his empty cup down on the table. On the bottom of the cup, a fiery phoenix emblazoned in red and gold shone in the light, and he thought at once of that kimono he and Genesis had found.

“You’re welcome, Hana.”

She whisked the dishes away and began to clean them in the sink. “The house looks better already,” Angeal said. “More open and homey. It’s amazing what a little rearranging can do.”

“Hana’s work,” Sephiroth said. “She has big plans for this place, but she’ll need supplies.”

“Paints first,” Hana said from the kitchen. “But I can’t decide on a color.”

“The white is a little sterile for a home,” Angeal agreed. “I’m pretty sure paint was the first thing Genesis did to his place too. Except he had the money to pay someone else to do it.”

“Pity the painter couldn’t talk any sense into him,” Sephiroth said.

Angeal chuckled. “Genesis does have unique tastes.”

Hana finished with the dishes and came to rejoin them, sitting on the floor opposite of where they sat on the couch, across the coffee table.

“I did come to ask a favor, Hana,” Angeal said.

“What do you need?”

“I want to borrow your husband for a few hours tonight.”

Hana scoffed. “He hardly needs _my_ permission to do anything. You should be asking him.”

“What are we doing?” Sephiroth asked.

“The usual. Genesis will meet us there.”

“Seconds are out?”

“Mandatory rest after evaluations. They won’t be allowed in until tomorrow.”

“I can----hmm?” Sephiroth’s attention immediately turned from Angeal to Hana. Angeal missed what had happened, if anything had at all, but she was staring intently at the large window over the balcony. There was nothing to be seen – the curtains were drawn closed. Hana’s face was oddly blank.

“Did something happen?” Angeal asked.

“No,” Hana said. Her smile was fake. “Just thought I’d open the windows. I never got to see city lights in Wutai. I like them a lot.” She got up and pulled the drapes aside. Outside, Midgar sprawled out before them, glittering like colored stars against the black night. She hesitated, and then pulled the window half-open, letting in the crisp night air. The drapes swayed around her until she gathered them and tied them to the side.

“They really are a sight, aren’t they?” Angeal said.

Sephiroth frowned.

“We should get going. Genesis will be waiting,” Angeal said.

Now Sephiroth was looking out the window too, eyes narrowed.

“…Is everything really all right?” Angeal tried again. The air was electric.

Sephiroth turned his eyes to Hana, who met his intense stare with a vacant, open face. Angeal knew communication was passing between them; he felt the tension, but could decipher nothing.  

“Yes,” Sephiroth said at last. “Yes, let’s go.” And he got up off the couch, making his way to the door. Hana nodded, smiling as Angeal did the same. Out of the corner of his eye, Angeal caught her shoulders relaxing in a silent sigh of relief.

“O—kay,” Angeal said, unnerved, but playing along for the sake of the peace. “We’ll be back in a few hours or so,” he said to Hana.

“Have a good time,” she said. “Please don’t hurt yourselves.”

“Heh,” Angeal said, drawing his sword. “Your husband will probably be fine. If anything, it’s Genesis and I that are in danger.”

“Then please play nicely, Sephiroth.”

Sephiroth scoffed at the remark. “I have my phone if you need me.” And, without saying goodbye, he closed the door.

* * *

 

Hana was both terrified and relieved to be alone. They were both raw and needed time to vent and recover, and they could do that better when they were apart. Sephiroth could do that with his sword. She almost felt sorry for Genesis and Angeal, who would receive the brunt of his frustrations.

She stole a glance out the window again. She could have _sworn_ she had seen something, a shadow pass as a silhouette over the curtains.

A bird, she thought, purposefully denying that it had been much too big for that to be the case.

She sat down at the kitchen table. Her body said she was hungry but her mind said she did not want to eat. She laid her head down on the table, resting on her folded arms, lengthened her back, and fell into deep, rhythmic breathing.

All was tensely still and silent.

_Everything is all right_ , she chanted like a mantra. _Everything is all right_ ….

When she arose she had clarity of mind, but she knew it would not stay. As she sought for something to distract her, the copy of _Loveless_ that Genesis had given her caught her eye. She took it gratefully, trying to nestle herself into the pillows on the couch, but finding her body seemed rather stiff. She managed to pull her knees into her, though it felt awkward, and placed the book against them to read.

_It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to read_ , she thought gratefully. It was something she had sorely missed.

Hana thumbed through the sturdy pages, listening to them whisper as she turned them. Each act had a poem at the beginning, before going into the script. As she flipped, a word in the poem of act four caught her eye.

_Vengeance_. Her mind was drawn again to what had happened in the training room. She didn’t want to face that part of herself again.

But she had a feeling she would have to. Soon.

A gust of wind unfurled the gathered drapes, the hollow, breathy scream of its passing piercing the roaring, seething silence.

She took a deep breath.

“My soul, corrupted by vengeance,” she read aloud to herself, slowly, heavily. She stood, tall and proud, the book open in one hand, turning her back to the window and walking to the kitchen table.

“…Hath endured torment, to find the end of the journey…”

Sephiroth’s image came unbidden into her mind. Something pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. She felt as if encased in silver steel, her body preparing her for something that her mind was not yet ready to accept.

“…In my own salvation…”

As if pulled by puppet strings, as a soul enslaved to the body, hands only barely shaking, she reached to clasp her gun in her other hand. Its weight and form were natural and comforting in her palms.

_“…And your eternal slumber,_ ” hissed a voice that was barely hers.

Glass shattered.

_Loveless_ dropped to the floor. But not the gun.

And as she whirred around, her eyes confirmed what he heart had already known from the moment the shadow had passed over the drapes.

They had found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Tadaima/Okaierinasai - A extremely common, everyday exchange upon returning home, with the one returning saying "Tadaima". It is loosely an equivalent of "I'm home" and "Welcome back". "Okaierinasai" is markedly formal, with the casual being just "Okaieri".
> 
> 2) Baka - Means "stupid".


	10. Flight

It was quite a sight to return home to. All three men had seen the likes of it before, just never in the middle of Sephiroth’s living room.

Genesis hissed out a low curse, but the other two men stared in mute shock.

The assailants had come in through the balcony window, not even bothering with subtlety. There had clearly been more than one, as there were at least three jagged, man-sized holes that took out most of the large window. The broken glass dusted the floor, shards large and small, sharp as daggers, extending out several feet in front of the windowsill. The curtain rod had been torn down on one end, crossing the window at a diagonal as it barely hung by one end. The drapes were in sad tatters, fabric limp on the floor near the end of the rod that had fallen. The two floor-lamps by the window had tumbled as well, laying akimbo.

Beneath one of those lamps, amid the shards of glass, was a body washed in crimson. Too much blood to be merely his own.

The blood was everywhere. The walls, the floor, the couches and coffee table - there was even one bright burst and a spatter of it on the ceiling.

And some of the thinner smears were already starting to brown.

It had been _hours_.

And there was no sign of Hana.

“Get the Turks,” Sephiroth ordered. “Now.”

Angeal pulled out his cell phone and dialed. Genesis entered the room while Sephiroth remained in the doorway.

“Do you know who did this?” Genesis said, his voice lethally low, level, more of an accusation than a question. 

“She’s alive,” was all Sephiroth said.

“Oh, so they won’t kill her? Is that supposed to be consolation?” Genesis whirred on his friend, seething venom. “You know something? You may be many things right now, Sephiroth, but _surprised_ isn’t one of them. I’ll bet everything I have in saying that you know _exactly_ what happened…and _why_.”

Sephiroth’s face betrayed nothing – cold as steel with eyes of fire.

“You’ve kept one too many secrets, Sephiroth. Look at the results.” Genesis swept his hand over the scene to emphasize the carnage.

“You talk too much, especially considering that you are entirely ignorant of the situation.”

“I _talk_ too much? Forgive me, let me speak a language we both can understand.” Genesis roared, drawing his flaming blade and charging forward in a red blur.  

Genesis’s blade met Angeal’s with a harsh _clang_. Both swords sang, vibrating with the force of the impact. Sephiroth stood on the opposite side of Angeal, not having moved in the slightest.

“Enough, Genesis!” Angeal said. “This won’t help anything.”

Genesis smirked maliciously. “I was right, you are guilty. You didn’t so much as move to draw against me. I bet under all that ice, your guilt is eating you alive right now, knowing you let this happen.” With that barb, Genesis sheathed his sword and turned his back to his friends.

“We wait for the Turks,” Angeal said firmly, as if he could stamp out the fire between them. “Don’t disturb anything from the scene.”

No one moved. The three men stayed rooted where they were in silence until footsteps thundered down the hall.

Tseng entered without invitation, two more men in Turk uniforms behind him. “Lock down the building,” he ordered as soon as he laid eyes on the scene. One of the men beside him made the call.

“What do you know?” Tseng asked curtly.

“Nothing,” Angeal said, cutting over Genesis. “When we returned from sparring the apartment was like this.”

“And Hana?”

“Gone.”

“How long since you left?”

“Three hours,” Angeal admitted quietly. They all knew that was the worst news. Hana could be well on her way to most anywhere by now.

Tseng turned to his fellow Turks. “Sweep the perimeter and see if building security noticed anything suspicious. I can handle the rest alone.” The two Turks promptly dismissed themselves to complete their assignments.

“Wutai troops,” Tseng said, kicking the body over so it laid face-up. “But not from the imperial military. I’ve never seen this phoenix insignia before.”

“Can you tell how many there were?” Angeal asked.

“At least three. One here, and two more bodies we found just before you called, apparently thrown from the balcony.”

Angeal grimaced. It was a long, long fall.

“There can’t have been many more,” Tseng continued. “If the party had been much bigger, they could not have evaded security the way they did.”

“It would only take _one_ more to carry Hana off,” Genesis snapped. Sephiroth did not respond, still in the doorway, watching with hazed eyes.

“It’s a possibility we can’t rule out. We don’t know how many there were, which makes it impossible to say how many are still unaccounted for. ”

Sephiroth moved at last to sit on his couch, at the end that was the least splattered with blood. They all glanced at him as he made the move, but said nothing.

“Look,” Tseng said, carefully ruffling through the carpet to pull out a thin, sharp sliver of wood. “We found these on the bodies down below as well. Darts, seeped in a powerful sedative.”

“They were trying to take her alive,” Angeal said.

“Tch. Sephiroth already knew that,” Genesis added.

Sephiroth sent Genesis a venom glare but said nothing.

“None of them were carrying any guns,” Tseng said. “Which means that all the bullets had to come from—“

“Dear Gaia,” Angeal cursed, realizing it for the first time.

The many, many bullet holes in the walls, the furniture, and most of all, the _bodies_ , had to come from the gun left fallen on the ground next to an open volume of _Loveless_.

Hana’s gun.

From the looks of things, it had been a blind, bloody frenzy.

Angeal sighed and put his forehead in his hand. “ _She_ did this, then?”

“Most likely,” Tseng said, “as there is no other gun to be found.”

Genesis reverently picked up the copy of _Loveless_ from the ground, brushing off the cover, but holding it to the page that had been opened when it fell. “Oh. She’d been reading the beginning of act four.”

“Don’t tell me that’s the part when—“

“ _My soul, corrupted by vengeance, hath endured torment to find the end of the journey in my own salvation and your eternal slumber_ ,” Genesis read. “I’ll admit it was unfortunate timing.”

Tseng’s phone rang. He didn't even greet the caller and didn't speak a single word, but he nodded and pocketed the device after the message had been delivered. “I have news. We still can’t say for certain that Hana wasn’t taken,” Tseng said, “but the woman at the front desk said she saw a figure using a blanket as a cloak jet out the front gates, seemingly in great distress.”

Sephiroth propped his elbow on his knee and bent over to put his forehead in his palm. Through the silver veil of his hair, his face could not be seen.

“She ran, then,” Genesis said quietly. “And who can blame her. Especially for her first kill—or… _three_ —this was pretty traumatic.”

“She shouldn’t be alone then,” Angeal said. “We need to find her immediately.”

“She won’t want to see us,” Sephiroth said in a deadpan tone. “Me, least of all.”

“We’re her friends,” Angeal insisted.

“We kill for a living.”

The conversation stopped for a moment.   

“Fine. But we can’t leave her either,” Angeal said quietly in consideration of Sephiroth. “She knows nothing about the city, is unarmed, and we don’t know if she got all of her attackers. Even if she did, there are gangs and thugs in the alleys.”

“Her senses probably aren’t fully intact either,” Genesis said. “I doubt she could resist an attacker if she wanted to.”

“We’ll send out a team of Turks immediately,” Tseng said. “If it’s agreeable to you, Sephiroth, I’ll give the orders to guard only and remain out of sight. If she doesn’t want to be here, we’ll let her wander until she’s ready to return. We won’t intervene unless it becomes necessary.”

“That would be best,” Sephiroth said. “And keep the press away.”

“It’s too late for that. They got wind of the bodies below.”

“Then swing it as much as you can to keep Hana out of this.”

“I’ll try. No promises. Unless the three of you need anything, I’ll take my leave to oversee the mission and cleanup.”

“We’ll be fine,” Angeal said.

“I’ll phone in any new developments.” With that, Tseng left, leaving the three friends in the remains of the skirmish.

There was nothing left to say. Genesis made himself comfortable at the kitchen table, far from Sephiroth on the couch, thumbing through _Loveless_ distractedly but not reading. For a long while, the whisper of turning pages was the only noise in the room.

Angeal took out his phone once again. He waited a long time after dialing.

“…Yes, Zack, I know what time it is, but I’m sending you on an urgent mission. …You’ll be interested once you hear what it is. Hana has disappeared.” Something sounded like an explosion on the other end of the phone. Angeal pulled it away from his ear and grimaced from the blast, but recovered quickly.

“Now that you’re up, here are the details. She’s likely on foot but she has as much as a three-hour head start. Scour the city. Be gentle and considerate when you find her, she’s likely extremely distressed and may not want to come back immediately. Stay with her and guard her until she’s ready to return. …No, I don’t have any leads on which way she went.”

There was angry screaming on the other end, but Angeal remained calm “…No, it’s not Sephiroth’s fault,” Genesis snorted loudly but Angeal silenced him with a glare. “Wutai troops broke in through her window while Sephiroth was away. It was an awful, bloody mess and she’s likely shell shocked. …I know you may not find her, but try. The Turks are searching too, but you’re a friendly face and I think she needs that now.”

When Angeal hung up, Sephiroth was looking at him in disapproval. “Zack is…maybe not _good_ at these things, but he’s better than we are,” Angeal justified. “His heart is in the right place, at least.”

“Hmph.”

“You should stay at my place tonight,” Angeal said. “You’ll get no sleep here.”

“I do not intend to sleep until the matter is settled.” Sephiroth rose to his feet and smoothed his long coat. “There is much to do.”

He began to walk out the door, in no particular hurry. Genesis glanced up at him over the rim of _Loveless_. “Strange, considering you’re the one who got her into this mess.”

Sephiroth’s lips curled downward at the corners, and he shook his head once. “No,” he said. “It is quite the other way around.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

 

“So we just wait?” Genesis asked Angeal.

“What else is there to do?”

“We could start searching too.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on Sephiroth that way. He’s raw enough as it is.”

“Well, how about a different _kind_ of searching?” Genesis put down _Loveless_ and began to make his way to the spare bedroom.

“No, Genesis, that’s not—“

But he wasn’t listening. With a sigh, Angeal resigned.

Genesis came back out with the box they had seen during their first visit to see Hana. “You have just invaded a lady’s private bedroom,” Angeal reminded him with scorn.

“I’m trying to figure out said lady,” Genesis said, setting the box on the table and opening it without ceremony. He put the jeweled hairpins aside and went straight for the kimono.

He lifted it and unfurled it with a flip of his wrists. The blue silk cascaded over the table, falling gently and silently after the breath it sighed as it swished out.

And there, embroidered over and over onto that kimono, was the emblem of the phoenix.

Genesis went back to the body and ripped the insignia on the soldier’s coat off, returning to hold the bloodied scrap in his hand above the kimono.

The insignia was identical all the way down to the coloration, but for one small detail.

The phoenix’s feathers on the soldier’s uniform were arranged differently, giving the wing a different shape.

“The feathers are shorter at the wing’s tip,” Genesis observed.

“They’re _clipped_ ,” Angeal clarified.

_“It’s quite the other way around,”_ Sephiroth had said.

She’s _the one getting_ him _into trouble._

The two friends stared at the two symbols, and a feeling of dread chilled the air.


	11. Ma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter: Hana has flashbacks of her attack and a panic attack. I write it vividly to show the world that it is real and not a joke.   
> Protect yourself first. I will provide a brief summary of the chapter at the end so you will not miss any points going into the next chapter. Scroll all the way down past the Japanese translations.

Dawn came slowly. As the sunlight spilled over her body, light and warmth gradually eased her from her slumber.

When she opened her eyes, she saw wood – long, aged planks running parallel to her body. Besides the small window on her right, there was no light. The wood stretched into darkness all around her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but had nothing to say. Below her there were noises – the murmur of people and the clank of dishes – but these were muted so they almost seemed to be lingering remnants of the dream she had already forgotten.

There was nothing in her mind. No emotions, no thoughts. She felt as blank and empty as if she had just now begun to exist.

She was hardly in a room, more of a large, open closet. There were no adornments on the wooden walls besides a drape of red cloth hung over the window, pulled to the side and tied with plain twine. When she sat, there was only about a foot of space above her head, and the floor was only several inches longer than her outstretched body and just wider than her arm span.

It felt cozy. Familiar. She didn’t care to wonder exactly where she was.

She pulled herself from under the heavy blanket, drawing herself to her knees as she began to neatly fold it. Under her was a futon, and beneath that, tatami mats.

She reached out her fingers and stroked the mat. She smiled. This was familiar. She ran her fingers along the grain of the weave, savoring the smoothness, and then perpendicular to it, feeling the predictable texture.

She had missed these little things so much in the very few days that she had been away.

After she had placed her blanket in the corner, she swung her legs over the edge of the alcove and stepped down. A pair of slippers waited for her there. With a smile she slid her feet inside. This, she knew.

It was a tiny home. An open door led to a small washroom, lit only by a single bulb, with only enough room to stand in place and turn between the sink, toilet, and a deep bath. There were some shelves, a chest of drawers, a calligraphy scroll hung on the wall, and in the middle of the room, before a set of stairs led down below…

A kotatsu. And from one end of the blanket extended two black army boots, and from the other end, a shock of black, spiked hair.

_Army boots…!_

She clutched her heart as her breath was ripped from her lungs, the violence of the onslaught folding her in two. She could hear the roar of her racing heart in her ears, pulsing pain through her with each beat. She could not breathe. She was drowning. Her rapid, choking gasps brought no relief. Her legs began to shake, and she tumbled to the floor, suddenly too weak to support herself. There she lay, wracked with tremors, helpless, unable to even cry for help.

“Hana!” Hands were around her at once, pulling her up into a sitting position. “Hana, Hana _breathe_!”

“Nnng--!” She was breathing as fast as her heart was throbbing. It wasn’t enough. She couldn’t keep it in. It left before it could relive her.

_I’m drowning. I’m going to die…._

“Ma!” Somewhere beyond the pain she recognized the voice as Zack’s. “ _Ma!_ ”

“Get away from her!” a woman cried, and footsteps thundered up the stairs. “Get _out_!”

Zack was gone as quickly as he had appeared.

New arms slid behind her neck and under her knees, and she was lifted up. Quickly, she was placed back in the futon on the alcove, and tucked tightly under the heavy blanket.

_“Yosh…yosh…yosh...yukkuri…yukkuri….”_

The world before her eyes was reeling, spinning, heaving to and fro. But the words awakened something within her, and something in her body began to still. The woman was patting her forehead, a beat slow and steady, peacefully calling her away from the uncontrollable rhythm of her heart.

_“Yukkuri…hai…hai…soudesu. Yosh…yosh…yosh…_ ”

From the depths of her heart a new, white calm blossomed, a wash of warmth and serenity that gradually worked its way outwards. Her body was slower to respond, but the woman continued to chant until her breathing was shaky but regularly paced, and, in sheer exhaustion, her body fell still.            

At some point, when she was only still barely quivering, Hana became aware of Zack taking her hand and squeezing encouragingly. When she heaved out the last of her tension in an exhale, and fell entirely limp, he brushed her hair off her face. “Is it over?” he asked.

“Yes,” the woman said. “No thanks to you. I told you to stay downstairs.”

She could picture the wounded pout on Zack’s face. “She’ll be all right?”

“She needs to rest.”

“Yeah,” Zack agreed. “Hey, Hana,” he said softly. “Everyone knows you’re safe. There’s nothing you have to worry about anymore, so just sleep, all right? We’re going to take care of you.”

She did as she was told, too exhausted to even dream.

* * *

 

When Hana awoke the second time it was dark outside. Someone had untied the drape to cover the window. The only light came from the meager bulbs.

Zack and the woman he had called Ma were sitting at the kotatsu, speaking in whispers and sipping tea.

When she sat up, both pairs of eyes turned to her. “You’re up,” Zack said. He smiled, but he seemed tired, and lacked his usual enthusiasm. “Well, good morning.”

Hana shook her head to banish the rest of the sleep and then stepped down from the alcove. “How long…?”

“You’ve slept through the day,” Zack said. “But that’s it. Just one day.”

“Hn.”

The kind-eyed woman motioned to Hana, summoning her over to the warmth of the kotatsu. With a polite dip of her head, Hana moved to join them. Her legs were still weary, but neither Zack nor the woman commented when she staggered. Hana bowed her head again as she slipped her legs under the quilt.

“This is Ma,” Zack said, gesturing to the woman at his left. “She found you after you ran away and took you in." He was speaking slowly and softly, treading carefully. "Do you remember anything?”

“No,” Hana breathed. “Not a thing. The last thing I remember was…" She pursed her lips as she thought. Something big and heavy sat on a segment of her memories and she could feel it. She knew something had happened, something terrible, she just couldn't tell exactly what.  "...dropping _Loveless_.”  

The woman placed her warm and weathered hands over Hana’s. “Don’t try, young one. Perhaps you are not ready for it yet.”

Ma was an older woman, with age carved in lines over her face and streaked in gray through her hair. Still, her dark eyes shone with life, and her smile was warm and genuine. She was dressed in only a simple shirt and long skirt, a once-white apron covering her entire front. Hana’s heart leaped as she looked into that face, with the eyes shaped just as hers and skin only just darker than her own.

“My name is Matsuko, but these days I’m just called Ma.”

“You’re really Wutaian,” Hana said. “I dared to hope when I saw the tatami.”

Ma laughed. “I’ve been here in Midgar so long, child, I scarcely know what I am anymore. But yes. Long ago I came from Wutai, and I dare say that my heart belongs there still.”

“Are there,” Hana paused, “any more Wutaians in the city?”

Ma shook her head. “Not anymore. My husband and I are the only ones left. Because of the war, Midgar is not the friendliest place for us to be. But we get by, running this izakaya. They may be at war with us, but Midgarians never tire of Wutai food. Your SOLDIER friend here has proved to be quite the example of that.”

Zack grinned sheepishly.

“An izakaya?” Hana asked dreamily. “…You have…real Wutaian food?”

As if on cue, slow footsteps ascended the stairs. Before she even saw the man, she could see steam rising and smell the rich, fishy aroma. He was an ordinary man, older than his wife, but he had kind eyes and a gentle smile. Without a word, he set the large bowl and a pair of chopsticks in front of her, and slowly made his way back downstairs.

“My husband is a man of few words,” Ma said. “But he’s the best cook outside the royal courts.”

“Oden,” Hana sighed. “Oh…it feels like it’s been _ages_ ….”

Zack raised an eyebrow at the soup. It looked to be just broth with large chunks of everything in it, though he could only identify the carrots and cabbage. Hana broke apart the chopsticks and said, _“Itadakimasu!”_ before she began to eat.

“This is real Wutaian food, young man,” Ma said as Hana picked up a large chunk of daikon. “Not the fake stuff everyone else in Midgar likes so much.”

“Huh,” Zack said. “Smells…interesting. That’s not what you serve downstairs.”

“We are ruled by the demands of the populace,” Ma said with regret. “We save the best for ourselves, as we’re the only ones who appreciate it.”

Zack wrinkled his nose but said nothing. Hana was eating so gratefully that he did not want to protest.

When the bowl was empty, Hana set her chopsticks down. _“Gochisousama deshita_ ,” she said. “Thank you so much, Matsuko-san.”

“None of that,” Ma said. “Call me ‘Ma’. And I think my husband would like it very much if you called him ‘Pa’.”

Zack cleared his throat and rose to his feet, pretending to check his phone. Hana’s eyes had gotten teary, and something very tender passed between the two women. He felt out of place in that, but was happy for her just the same. She’d just been adopted by people from her motherland, and he couldn’t imagine any better timing than after last night’s catastrophe.

Hana saw him checking his phone and dabbed at her eyes as she spoke. “Is everything all right?”

“They’re worried, but I told them everything is fine. Angeal’s sending me lots of messages anyway.”

“I should get back,” Hana said sadly, staring into her empty bowl.

“There’s no rush, really,” Zack said. “But if you’re ready, I’ll take you.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“You go get ready, young man,” Ma said. “I want a few words alone with Miss Hana. In the meantime, you go tell Pa to make you something special for the road.”

Zack grinned. “Thanks, granny. For everything.”

When Zack had disappeared, Ma folded Hana in her arms, squeezing tightly as Hana rested her head on her shoulder.

“The early days of marriage are hard, Hime-chan,” Ma said. “Especially when you’re so far from home.”

“You…you know?”

“Even I’m not so far removed that I haven’t heard tell of the General’s war bride,” Ma said.

Hana felt heavy, like she was sinking into the floor. Slowly, piece by piece, memories were starting to seep through the cracks. Tiny details of things she didn’t want to remember. And she knew if she went back to ShinRa, those floodgates would burst.

“I don’t want to go back to him, Ma,” she whispered. As soon as she said the words, she knew. It wasn’t ShinRa. If she went back to _Sephiroth_ those floodgates would burst.

“Hime-chan,” Ma said, patting her back. “I remember how that was. But for more reasons than the sake of your marriage alone, you must return, yes?”

Hana nodded.

“You don’t have to do it alone, Hime-chan. No woman should have to. Our doors are always open to you, any time. Sometimes, even the best of men cannot understand the way a woman does, yes?”

Ma unfolded Hana’s fingers and slid a key into her palm. “If you ever need refuge, from _anything_ , come here, Hime-chan.”

Hana returned her embrace, then took a deep breath and pulled away. “ _Ganbatte ne_ ,” Ma said. “You can do it.”

Hana clutched the key. She didn’t know if she could do it, but she would have to regardless.

* * *

 

“Hey,” Zack said. “One question about last night, and then I won’t say another word, okay?”

Hana cringed, bracing herself, but said, “All right.”

He was back to tiptoeing with his words again. Hana didn’t like it. Zack was bold and straightforward and this little dance he was doing wasn’t like him. “They need to know how many…uh… _men_ there were in your apartment last night. The Turks, that is. I couldn’t care less, you know. Just because there might be more out there that need to be taken care of but it’s no big deal, right? It doesn’t matter---“

Zack said “men”, but Hana heard “attackers” anyway.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

That’s right. She had been attacked.

And in response, she had---

“They want to know if I got them all?” she whispered, darkly, through grit teeth. She remembered now. Though the horrible details had yet to follow, she knew the main points of the story now.

Zack grabbed her shoulders. Hard. “Hey, _hey_ , stay with me. Gaia I’m an _idiot_! I never should have asked. _Hey!_ Stay with me!”

He shook her once but she was far gone, eyes glazed over. The dark streets of Midgar faded away and she watched the events of last night, thinly veiled and blurred, this time as a spectator. Outside her own body, she could not stop herself from firing, couldn’t stop the bullets that felled her own countrymen, even though she knew full well that they would not kill her…

When the scene faded, there was only blackness and her breathing. She felt hollow, less real, and like the world was five beats ahead of her. It was only on some distant plane that she knew that the outside world wasn’t supposed to lag like this, that something was wrong in the first place.

Slowly, Zack’s face came into view. He had the most pathetic smile on his face, trying to be supportive and cheery in spite of him knowing all too well what was happening to her.

“There were only three,” Hana said, deadpan. “I’m fairly certain.”

Zack quickly texted her answer, swearing under his breath, and then jammed his phone back in his pocket. True to his word, he didn’t say anything more about it, but he kept one hand firmly clamped on her forearm and his other arm wrapped around her, hand tightly clenching her shoulder.

They walked the empty streets of Midgar, Hana uneasy in the roaring quiet. With Zack at her side, sword drawn to dissuade any ruffians, she felt slightly better, and it was admittedly nice to see the city without the usual noise and traffic of the day. Loveless Avenue was really beautiful, and the murmur of the large fountain in the distance was soothing.

These small things were all that was keeping her tethered to the real world.

“You have a new apartment,” Zack said. “A fresh start. Angeal says it’s a lot bigger, with a real kitchen and everything.”

“Hmm. That will be nice.” She didn’t really mean it but the words filled the void.

“Sephiroth doesn’t even have enough furniture to fill it. You’ll definitely have to do some shopping. You can pretty much design the whole place any way you want!”

“Yeah.”

Zack gave her a soft nudge with his elbow. “You all right?” He was trying to be chipper, but she heard his worry. He was trying at least. Trying his best to help where he ultimately could do very little.

“Just…thinking, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Zack said softly. “Thinking, I mean.” He reached one hand behind his head and rubbed his hair nervously.

“Hana, listen. That first kill is unreal. For everyone. It’s something so strange and dramatic that we all remember it as long as we live. It’s heavy, and it hurts for a while. For some it goes away faster than others, or farther back in their minds, but we never really forget. It takes an awful lot to kill another human, and that’s a good thing, but I think that’s also why it hurts so much the first time.

“You just gotta know that you did what you had to do. Everyone has to find a reason for it one way or another – it’s part of being a soldier. Whether you did it for a special cause or out of protection or whatever else, you find the purpose in it, and then you can move on. So…just let whatever you’re feeling out, and we’ll help, all right? We’ll all help. Me and Angeal and…uh…Genesis too. Maybe. And Sephiroth too, I guess.” He put one arm around her and gently squeezed. “You’re alive. It’ll be all right.”

“Thanks Zack,” Hana said. “But I’m not sure I understand it all yet.”

“You’re doing a lot better than I expected, to be honest. I was really worried you had it bad when you had that panic attack but…you’re on your feet and walking, and that’s a good sign. Ma sure knew how to help. I’m really glad she was there.”

“Me too,” Hana said.

“Don’t force it. It’s not good for you.”

“Okay.”

“And keep busy! Sitting around is the worst thing you can do.”      

“Okay.”

The Shinra building was now in view. Hana sighed heavily. “This is it, then.”

“Want me to come with you?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you scared of Sephiroth?”

Hana’s eyebrows drew together. “Scared…isn’t the right word.”

“Nervous?”

“Maybe.”

“He’s been worried too, you know,” Zack said. “Or, I think the word Angeal used was ‘upset’.”

Hana smiled softly and shook her head. The idea was somehow, morbidly funny.

“They said the receptionist has your new card key to access your apartment,” Zack said. “You…want me to come with?”

“No, I’ll be fine. He’s my husband, after all.”

Zack frowned, unconvinced. “Then take care. I guess I’ll see you around.”

Zack turned away from the building. He wanted to wander the city a bit to clear his mind.

He stopped just in time as a thought hit him.

“Oh, hey,” Zack called to Hana, coming closer to her so she could hear him without him having to shout. “Just out of curiosity, Ma kept calling you ‘Hime-chan’. Does that mean anything?”

Hana pulled open the doors, not looking back to face him. “Just a sweet little nothing,” she said. “Please, pay it no mind,” and she pulled the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1)“Yosh…yukkuri...hai…soudesu....” etc. - These are calming words Ma is chanting to Hana, not unlike what you would say to a crying child. "Yosh(i) yosh(i)" is like "there, there", "yukkuri" means "slowly", "Hai" and "soudesu" mean "yes" and "that's it".
> 
> 2) Tatami - mats of woven reeds.
> 
> 3) Kotatsu - a short table, heated underneath, with a comforter going over your legs to contain the heat. A very traditional Japanese way to keep warm in the winter.
> 
> 4) Izakaya - the rough equivalent of a pub or bar, with good meals in addition to alcohol.
> 
> 5) Oden - Japanese stew (fish based). Daikon, or the Japanese radish, is a standard ingredient.
> 
> 6) "Itadakimasu" and "Gochisousama deshita" - formalities said before and after a meal respectively. Shows gratitude for the food and respect to the chef.
> 
> 7) Hime-chan - "Hime" is "princess", which is usually followed by the honorific "~sama". However, Ma has added "~chan" to the end, implying closeness or that she is young/inexperienced. This is a strange combination that is probably never used in real life, but I chose it for plot-related purposes to yet be revealed.
> 
> 8) Ganbatte ne - "Try your best", used as encouragement.
> 
> Chapter Summary:
> 
> Hana wakes up in Ma's home. Ma, short for "Matsuko", runs an izakaya in Midgar. She and her husband are an elderly couple who are the last Wutaians in Midgar, the rest forced out by the war. She is the one who found Hana after she ran away.  
> Ma and Zack help Hana through the emotional ramifications of her first kill. Ma gives Hana a key to the izakaya and tells her to come by when she needs any kind of refuge. She tells Hana to call her and her husband "Ma" and "Pa". She calls Hana "Hime-chan". On the way back to Midgar, Zack offers her more emotional support and coaching (as best he can), and informs her that she has a brand new apartment waiting for her.


	12. Smile for the Camera

The door was open, and Sephiroth was unpacking items from a box placed on the couch, his back turned to her as he worked.

Considering that they were moving their entire residence, there was really surprisingly little. She had never appreciated how few belongings he really had until she saw his whole apartment packed away into so few boxes.

Except for the books. With a smile, she noted that those had already been unpacked and methodically organized on the shelf. Box after box had been thrown in the corner, emptied of their heavy contents long ago. Moving his library had probably made up the bulk of the job.

The furniture had already been moved, and the apartment looked both haphazard, because nothing was arranged, and sparse, because their new place was indeed much bigger than their last apartment. It would take a lot to fill, as Zack had said.

The TV was set up on the coffee table, turned on to the news. The voice of the female reporter filled the staleness of the new home with sound.

_“…And it has been confirmed that it was indeed General Sephiroth’s personal residence that was attacked. ShinRa has officially announced that Sephiroth was not in his apartment at the time, and that the Wutai troops were specifically targeting his wife instead, who has been reported as missing since the incident. The official announcement also confirmed that all of the Wutai assailants have been eliminated, and there is no evidence of any lingering Wutai forces within the borders of Midgar. Heightened security will be maintained as a precaution only. No further details have been released, and the General has refused to comment on the situation.”_

Sephiroth tossed an empty box into the corner with the others, hefted another onto the couch, sliced the tape with a _zip_ and started to unload office supplies from it. His desk lamp came out, followed by a black desk organizer and a small handful of expensive pens. He put the pens in a compartment, and then filled the organizer item by item as he pulled it out of the box. A stapler, paper clips, sticky notes, scissors, whiteout, highlighters, tape, and a letter-opener were all precisely placed before he took the entire organizer into a back room – presumably his new office.

Hana stepped behind the door to avoid his gaze as he made his way back from the office, not ready to face him yet. As she waited, she listened to the newscaster continue.     

_“Despite pressure, even from the executives of ShinRa, Sephiroth is also refusing to release so much as a physical description of his new bride to the public sector, instead enlisting a small team of Turks to bring her back in secrecy. Even though ShinRa claims that Sephiroth is acting only out of concern for her privacy, the whole world is wondering exactly what it is that the SOLDIER General is trying to hide. If all her attackers are taken care of, but she’s not back yet, what exactly is going on? I’m Niva with Channel 6 News, back to you, Craig.”_

Hana peeked in the door. Sephiroth had returned to his original position, back to her, and resumed his work. She stayed where she was, watching him in silence.

_"Thank you for the update, Niva. Indeed there has been no shortage of theories as to what’s really happening behind the scenes. It’s so strange, though. Even considering his iconic distance from the general public, you’d think that Sephiroth would release_ something _in the hopes that she would be sighted. And this came in such a short time after their mysterious marriage. As time goes on there’s going to be an even greater demand for answers, and let me tell you, I’m not sure even Sephiroth can hold out for much longer—“_

Sephiroth raised the remote and turned off the TV. The room returned to silence. Sephiroth was looking into the open box, shoulders dropping in a silent sigh.

“We could just tell them that I was killed,” Hana suggested quietly.

Sephiroth turned to her, realizing that she was present for the first time.

“It would simplify things,” she said with a shrug.

He looked at her inquisitively for a moment, and she was sure that she would soon be explaining herself. But before she could even steel herself to take a breath to do so, his posture changed. She might not have even seen it if she had not known what to look for, but his shoulders relaxed, the lines in his pale forehead smoothed, and his eyes lost their focused bite.

“No such luck,” Sephiroth said. “There would only be more conspiracies.”

“Hm,” Hana said. “I’ve never been in a problem so bad that even death wouldn’t solve it.”

Sephiroth smirked and chuckled deeply at the wry humor. “I don’t believe I have either.”

Hana let herself in, taking in the new apartment. “It’s huge,” she said.

“In comparison with the old one, yes. It still does not stand up to Genesis’s standards.”

She took a few small steps in place on the carpet. It was lush, deep, and slightly springy. The cabinets in the kitchen were a dark mahogany, with countertops of marble. There were sconces encasing the lightbulbs on the ceiling, as opposed to the fluorescent lighting panels of his old apartment. A modest chandelier even hung above where he had placed the dining table.

“…And nicer,” she added.

“Hm. It was the only one available that most closely matched the specifications I provided. It is a bit more than I would have personally chosen.”

“No windows,” she said, disappointed. “And no balcony.”

Sephiroth waited a moment to respond. “Those were the conditions I requested,” he said. “I do not make the same mistakes twice.”

“Oh,” she said. Then the move had been all about her safety. The thought of living out of the sunlight was strange and sad. “But you said this place was only a close match…?” she asked, almost daring to hope.

“There is a window in my bedroom, and it will be equipped with proper security and deterrents for when I am not present. And there is a second in my bathroom, which I will also take care of.”

So all the sunlight was on his end of the house, out of her reach. Besides the disappointment, she found morbid humor in the situation. The only ways for an attacker to break in would be through his personal bathroom or his private bedroom. She would have almost liked to have seen that. The possible encounters playing through her mind made her smile despite herself.

Sephiroth saw her mischievous grin and raised an eyebrow. “You are in good spirits,” he said, speaking gently, knowing he was extending onto treacherous ground.

“I’m—“ Hana grimaced, searching for the right word. She eventually settled with “…Fine.” She lowered her head to avoid Sephiroth’s gaze.

“And I don’t want to talk about it. Ever,” she added in a rush.

“Understandable,” Sephiroth said, and it just might have been traces of empathy that she heard in his voice. “Do you need to rest?”

“I've been resting all day," she said. "I'm sort of tired of it. Zack told me to keep busy, anyway."

Sephiroth nodded. "That is probably wise. It's too late to go anywhere now, but there are boxes you can unpack. I can help you move some furniture, too."

"I'd like that, actually." Her mind was already working, playing with possible arrangements for the room in her head. It was a welcome distraction.

"If you are up for it tomorrow morning, we have errands to run in town together."

“Errands?” she asked, her planning halted in its tracks by the statement. If she was being honest with herself, it was the _together_ part that had truly been the surprise, but she wasn’t about to say it. “Where are we going?”

Sephiroth scoffed. “To mend our public image.” It was all he said on the matter. He went into what she assumed was now her bedroom, bringing out three large boxes. "Shall we begin?"

"Yes," she breathed in relief, rolling up her sleeves. As she began to unload her things from the boxes, she could begin to forget that Sephiroth was studying her closely, and was being very careful to be subtle in his movements and words. She could pretend that he was just being his quirky self instead of actually looking for anything seriously wrong, because the more she absorbed herself in unpacking and folding and organizing and rearranging, the more she could believe that there really was nothing for him to look for.

* * *

 

They both worked hard, side by side. It felt good to be moving, to be doing something. But the downside of having so little possessions was that all the work was done relatively quickly. Well after midnight, she went to eagerly retrieve another box to unpack only to find that the stack had been exhausted.

She stared dumbly at the empty corner for far longer than she should have, but something wasn’t processing correctly. She knew there was more. There just had to be.

“Hana,” Sephiroth said, a soft warning call. Had she been slipping? She couldn’t remember. She went back into the living room, feeling more than a little sheepish.

He was observing her far too closely for her liking.

“Already?” she asked. “You don’t have any more in your room or something?”

“You are exhausted,” he stated. “That’s all for tonight.”

“Oh.”

“You should get some sleep.”

“…Yeah.” But Hana looked into her bedroom, futon all ready for her. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to.

And she _really_ didn’t like how closely Sephiroth was looking at her.

“Look, I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say that you weren’t.”

“Then stop looking at me like that!”

Sephiroth raised both eyebrows but obeyed. He went to the table to shuffle through some documents there. “My apologies,” he said. She wondered if he really was looking at something or just putting on a show of being distracted. If he was acting, he was good at it.

Part of Hana wanted to apologize for snapping at him like that, but another part of her didn’t. “Maybe we should just go to bed,” she said, resigned. It had to happen sooner or later.

“I think that would be best.” She still got the feeling that he was somehow observing her, even though he was looking away.

“So,” she stared at his back awkwardly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Hana.”

She went to her room and shut the door. Her futon lay in the middle of the room, waiting. She stared at it blankly, not thinking anything, for a space of time she could not measure. She waited for a sign – something, anything that would tell her that she would be all right tonight.

She heard Sephiroth’s footsteps as he left to retire to his own room.

And that was the final straw.

“ _Sephiroth_!”

By the time her mind had registered that she was panicking, her body had already reacted. She flung the door open and rushed out, out of breath though she had only sprinted a few yards. Sephiroth had stopped, head turned over his shoulder to see her. She stood, panting, gulping, and waited for her nerves to settle. Sephiroth waited along with her, still as stone.

It was only then that embarrassment caught up with her. She hadn’t meant to sound so needy.

“I…uh…I just…”

What could she say? She couldn’t beg him not to leave, though that was what she really wanted if she was being honest with herself. She couldn’t be alone now, and he was all that she had.   

She gulped and looked into his eyes. She couldn’t say it, but she had to.

“Could I stay…?” Could she stay, where? Her eyes drifted to his bedroom door. No, too terrifying. Her room, then? No, just as bad. Out of ideas, her mouth still flustered on. “I mean, it’s just tonight that I….” Her voice trailed off. No, it didn’t matter how much she needed his company tonight. She couldn’t say it.

“I see,” Sephiroth finally said. And Hana didn’t know if it would be worse if he did actually understand or if he didn’t. “Bring your futon into the living room. I will sleep on the couch.”

That was it. No judgment, no weird looks. Just a simple command.

She went to her room and scooped up the thin mattress, placing it down in the living room against the farthest wall from where her husband would sleep. Sephiroth had brought a pillow and crimson comforter from his bedroom and was arranging them on the couch. It looked like it would be awfully uncomfortable. He was too tall for it, and he was still in full uniform. Not that Hana would have dared to put on sleepwear either but still, didn’t it hurt to sleep in pauldrons?

“Goodnight,” Sephiroth said as he turned off the lights.

“…Goodnight, Sephiroth.”

She heard him settle into his comforter on the couch and then there were only the soft sounds of the outside city to fill the room. Hana laid her head down on her pillow. Sephiroth was only a leap away. There was no safer place she could be in all of Gaia.

After a while, she turned to lie on her side facing the couch. Sephiroth was either already asleep or doing a flawless job of faking it. She looked at his shadowy form for a long time. He was being very considerate. She never would have expected this from him. It was almost like he knew---

The thought made Hana sit straight up in her futon. She should have known. It was so obvious. Of course, he once had made his first kill too.

“Sephiroth,” she asked into the darkness. “Do you remember---“

“Yes I do, and I will not talk further about it.” His voice was entirely unclouded by sleep. Had he been awake this whole time?

Hana felt flooded with warmth despite the force with which he shut down the conversation. He had admitted it, even. He understood. He _really_ understood. And the power behind his refusal to speak of it made her wonder if it still haunted him.

This new, strange thing she felt stretch between him and her – this _connection_ – though tenuous, cleared her mind. Her breath was sweet, warm, and she savored it. She laid back down and closed her eyes. Slowly, deep and dreamless sleep enfolded her. That night, she rested peacefully.

That night, she wasn’t alone.

* * *

 

Genesis and Angeal sat on the couch the following morning, staring at the TV in a terrible blend of paralyzing disbelief and abject horror.

Sephiroth was on TV.

_Shopping_.

They made a charming ( _“unbelievably adorable!”)_ couple, as the show’s host cooed repeatedly. Hana was dressed in Wutaian clothes, pretty as the clear winter's morning in a flowery yukata and wide obi, dark hair pulled up and pinned back with two tama kanzashi. A heavy cloak, probably belonging to her husband, was tied at her shoulders, its lengths trailing delicately behind her, lightly sweeping the streets. The ebony folds gently danced around her with the breeze as it warded off the worst of the chill. Sephiroth was dressed in full SOLDIER uniform, armor, sword, and all - a vigilant guardian beside a delicate princess.

Hana shouldered a pretty paper parasol, walking with refined grace, and excellently playing the part of a blushing bride. She averted her face from the cameras, at times retreating behind the edges of the parasol behind her or looking to the street below. The other arm that was not holding the parasol was wound around Sephiroth’s upper arm, clinging abashedly, and drawing near to him from time to time. Her timidity coupled with the small but sweet ways Sephiroth responded to her – a thoughtful glance, a quiet word in her ear - had the female TV hosts positively raving.

“This. Is. _Revolting_.” Genesis said. “What are they _doing_? Sephiroth _hates_ paparazzi! Why aren’t heads rolling? And Hana’s not that shy! This is the most staged, phony, disgusting piece of—“

“It’s a tactical maneuver,” Angeal said somberly, eyes still glued to the screen. “It’s intentional. He’s planning…something.”

Hana and Sephiroth had just entered a shopping mall, and everyone was squealing at the wonder on her face and how thoughtful Sephiroth was to stop and let her take in the sights. She smiled brilliantly and tugged on Sephiroth’s sleeve as he gently untied her cloak and draped it over his own arm, pointing at something that had caught her eye. Sephiroth, in turn, nodded and smiled softly down upon her, lightly brushing his fingertips over one of her rosy cheeks. It was a move that sent everyone into a fit of shrieking as pink, heart-shaped, pulsing bubbles appeared on the screen around their faces.

_“Did you see how tenderly he just caressed her? I’ve never seen anything like it! The love in his eyes is burning so bright, and the way she_ looked _at him! I repeat, this is exclusive live footage of the General and his beautiful new bride. Isn’t she ravishing? Young love…there isn’t anything more beautiful!”_

Genesis outright snorted. “Exclusive?”

Angeal sighed. The same footage was on no less than five channels, one of which was the official ShinRa News, though at least they had had the decency not to scream and babble nonsense through the short segment that had officially introduced Hana as Sephiroth’s wife.

“Love?” Angeal repeated softly, trying out the word. To anyone who didn’t know Sephiroth or Hana, it probably would appear that way.

They watched more of the drivel, trying to tune out the voices of the women and focus on the proceedings.

“They are really good actors,” Genesis grumbled. “I’ll give them that much. Wonder how long Sephiroth had to practice to finally be able to put his arm around her.”

“Come on, Genesis, don’t be cynical.”

“Pfft. 500 gil that this is the first time he’s ever held her.”

Angeal frowned, dark suspicions creeping back into his mind. “We don’t know that,” he said, as much to himself as to Genesis.

The moneybags were jingling, and the TV staff could hear all too well. The first channel to get an interview would hit the jackpot. And so, naturally, a direct confrontation between Sephiroth and the press had to happen, more likely sooner than later.

They had been on the move from the beginning, slowly closing in like predators surrounding their prey. Hana looked innocuous enough, but Sephiroth was fully armed, and regularly scanned the surroundings. Everyone knew that no one was escaping his careful watch – he was merely tolerating them as he doted on his wife. Cameramen scurried around, keeping a wide berth, but looking for a path to close in.

One of the interviewers was inching in—closer, and closer, and ever closer. Sephiroth looked her way, and slightly raised an eyebrow.

A challenge.

She did not back down.

“That’s the little twit from channel 15. She’s gonna go for it!” Genesis laughed out loud. “Change it, quick! I _must_ see this.”

Angeal picked up the remote and complied.

_"We’re live from the Golden Chocobo Shopping Center and we’re about to meet General Sephiroth’s wife for the very first time, only on Channel 15.”_

“Oh you are, are you?” Genesis purred sadistically.

“This will be interesting,” Angeal conceded.

The woman was at a point where she was close enough to be overheard by the silver general. She finally turned her back to the camera man, held out her microphone, and made a dash for it. _“Excuse me!”_ she called. _“A word, please?”_

Genesis let out a dark chuckle that was enough to make even Angeal’s hair stand on end.

Hana drew into her husband, both hands clutching his forearm. Sephiroth watched closely as the interviewer approached, but made no move to deter her.

" _General, let me congratulate you on your marriage! We are so happy to meet your beautiful wife. Is there anything you’d like to say to introduce her?”_

“A bold move,” Angeal said. “Going straight for him.”

“But to ignore him and go for her would have been a worse mistake,” Genesis said.

Sephiroth did not answer the question, turning to his wife instead. _“Hana, is there something you would like to say?”_

Hana flushed red, but slowly unwound her arms from her husband’s and clasped her hands, bowing deeply from the waist. _“Konichiwa,”_ she said softly. _“I am most honored to be among you, citizens of Midgar.”_

The interviewer bowed in return, her relieved exhale escaping no one’s notice. _“Hana, we warmly welcome you to our city. I’m sure all the happiness in the world awaits you both here.”_

_“Thank you,”_ Hana said, turning to Sephiroth uncomfortably.

" _That will be enough,”_ Sephiroth said, threading his arm around her waist. _“We have nothing more to say.”_

You didn’t argue with that. _“Thank you for your time, General.”_

“That was it?” Genesis said. “…No blood? Not even a swipe at the camera?”

“It’s a publicity stunt,” Angeal reminded him. “Violence would have ruined the point.”

“ _Pride is lost, wings stripped away_ ,” Genesis quoted. “Oh, the shame he must endure to continue this great façade. His pride must be writhing in anguish.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little melodramatic?” Angeal said, turning off the TV. “All he really did was take Hana shopping.”

“And break his solemn oath that he would never entangle himself with the press,” Genesis added.

“I don’t think he ever actually made an oath about that—“

“Regardless. He’s never going to live this down,” Genesis said. Then added with a smirk, “At the very least, _I’m_ not going to let him forget this miserable performance.”

Angeal sighed, knowing only one thing. Behind all the hype and glamour, something big had to be going on for Sephiroth to go to such lengths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese translations:
> 
> 1) Yukata and obi - When people think of kimonos, what they are usually thinking of are yukatas. Yukatas are thinner (they are usually summer wear) and much less formal, and the sleeves don't hang as long. But the basic shape is the same. The obi is the tie around the waist to keep the robe closed, which is very fat and ornate for kimonos and considerably thinner for yukatas. 
> 
> 2) Tama kanzashi - "Tama" means "ball", and "kanzashi" are traditional hairpins. A tama kanzashi looks like a chopstick with a wooden, decorated ball on the end (hence the name).
> 
> 3) Konnichiwa - "Hello" or "good day"


	13. Shopping, Fangirls, and Other Confusing Miseries

At Hana’s insistence, the first things they shopped for were kitchen supplies so she could start making “proper meals, _immediately_.” At his insistence, their second priority would be a wardrobe fit for life on the Continent in both style and regards to the climate.

Sephiroth was only physically present, and not active in the selection at all. Hana was happier that way. He was absolutely no help in selecting which pot or spatula would be better, and she eventually got tired of asking his opinion only to get a blank stare in return.

After all, the only reason he had come with her was for show.

…And perhaps protection as well, Sephiroth thought grimly as he repressed the urge to glare at the small swarm of paparazzi on their tails. Filthy vultures in his eyes, all of them, far too eager to ram their beaks into the private business of others.

This time, it would work to their benefit, and therefore, he reminded himself, they must be tolerated.

Their staged performance was eagerly being eaten up. Reporters were still recording their every move, mouths never ceasing the commentary. He was giving his wife the dream shopping spree, and letting her buy literally everything she wanted, with a small smile and full, genuine approval. Women everywhere were probably green with envy with both her companionship and the free reign he allowed her in regards to his credit card.

He trusted her to use that money wisely. Hana was not frivolous. She bought good quality necessities, and tried to save money wherever she could without sacrificing an item’s durability.

“You’re _sure_ money is no issue?” she asked every time she picked up an item. He had assured her that it wasn’t. And it was the truth. His salary as SOLDIER General was rather high, and his living and food expenses were taken care of by the company, so the vast majority of every paycheck just sat in his account. He supposed that by some standards he _was_ wealthy. It was a strange thought. After all these years, that money gathering dust in the bank was finally coming in handy now that he had something to spend it on – or, more accurately, someone to spend it _for_ him.

“I think that’s it for the cooking tools,” Hana said, dropping a silver whisk into the cart. It was mostly full by now, filled with bulky boxes that contained pots, pans, and small appliances. “Now we need dishes.” She took the cart and started wheeling it away. He would have pushed it for her, but she was a woman with a mission, too focused to even notice that he had extended his hand to do so before she was gone.

She stood in the dishes section and stared. Laid out on counters was dish after dish of every shape, size, and color. “Woah,” she said as she took it all in. “I didn’t expect so many to choose from!”

“Choose wisely,” Sephiroth said wryly, sending his trademark stare in the direction of another TV host that looked like they were building up the nerve to approach. One interview had been quite enough. “The style you pick will likely become the next trend in Midgar.”

Hana nudged Sephiroth in the forearm. “Come on, ignore them. Help me pick.”

“I truly have no preference.”

“Oh?” Hana asked. “Well then, how about these?” She held up a set in the shape of spring daisies, petals alternating neon pink, yellow, and teal.

Sephiroth’s nose wrinkled and Hana laughed. “See? You _do_ have a preference.”

“Perhaps I should have said that I don’t particularly care, so long as your choice doesn’t render me blind.”

Hana put the plate back, still smiling. “Cute, but hardly practical for everyday use. And surely not dignified enough for the high and noble table of the great General.” She raised her nose haughtily and gave a condescending huff at the flower plate.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at (if she was imitating _him_ , she was doing an awful job), but she appeared to be in a good mood. An _exceptionally_ good mood, especially considering her recent ordeal.

_Acting_ , he reminded himself. That’s what she was doing. She was acting the part of a happy newlywed. And he was supposed to be doing likewise. He didn’t have anywhere near the talent she did, but he smiled approvingly for the sake of the press. They had to play and— _flirt_ —for the scene to work.

Hana picked up another plate, white, but ringed with hand-painted, tapering hues of crimson. Sephiroth nodded approvingly. Simple and tasteful. She put the display back, nodding to add her consent to his. “The set is….” Together they started to scan the walls of dishes, looking for the right box.

Their eyes caught the same set at exactly the same time.

Right at Hana’s eye level, within her reach, were turquoise plates of elegant china, painted in expert Oriental style with branches ripe with dainty pink cherry blossoms. The set was true Wutaian style, with many smaller plates and bowls instead of fewer, larger items, and came complete with matching chopsticks and teacups.

He knew she saw them because her breath hitched ever so slightly. But as soon as he turned to her to ask, the awe had been wiped from her features. She had found the boxed set for the red- rimmed dishes and was hauling the hefty box into the cart. “Glasses next!” she said, already wheeling the cart away.

Sephiroth looked again at the china set. She had clearly loved them, so why had she left them without so much as a word? He looked at the price. _Oh, that’s why…and they’re hardly practical either. More for show than anything._

He frowned, perplexed. He understood and appreciated her logic in turning them down, but he had also clearly told her, repeatedly, that money was no object. A set like that was a rare find on the Continent, and the splurge really wouldn’t have offended him.

Was this some kind of test of his perception and generosity? Would his passing them by be held over his head later? He’d heard so many stories of women’s cues being lost on men…was this one of them? What was going through her head? What was _he_ supposed to do? He would have given anything to know.

The paparazzi were focused on him, anxiously anticipating what he would do. How much of the exchange had they understood? He scoffed and followed after Hana. He would give them nothing further. They would only blow this trivial annoyance into something significant, which it clearly was not.

Hana had put the dishes out of her mind, but he couldn’t. It irritated him to no end. He even looked back several times, and the set was always there, as if to mock him. The whole time Hana spent selecting glasses and silverware, he spent trying to ignore the annoyingly obtrusive thoughts in his head. _I should get them. No, she is fine without them. But she_ clearly _liked them…_

His indecisiveness only led to a headache, and it wore his patience dangerously thin before they had even started to shop for her wardrobe.

“Hey, are you all right?” Hana asked, touching his forearm with her fingertips. They had both agreed that physical touch a necessary staple in their act of romance, but it was still unnatural, for the both of them.

He considered telling her the truth, but “ _headache”_ would signal annoyance. And while it wasn’t the shopping itself that was annoying him, it would seem that way, and it would deflate their dreamy little outing for the press. “Yes,” he said. “All done here?”

“Yes, let’s go.” From the look on her face, she had already guessed that he was annoyed.

He stood back and let her and the cashier handle the checkout process, handing over his credit card when prompted. She thanked the man, and Sephiroth stepped forward, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Go on to the clothes store across the way,” Sephiroth said, sending a specially crafted glare at the paparazzi to ensure they did not follow her. “I’ll arrange the delivery of these goods with the clerk.”

Hana nodded and did as she was told. The clerk, an aging man with a salt-and-pepper beard hiding most of his lower face, gulped under the scrutiny of the general. “We don’t normally deliver, sir.”

Sephiroth slid a generous handful of gil over the counter. “Make it happen,” he said. “Bring it to the ShinRa lobby. The receptionist will be expecting it and will make arrangements from there for the goods to be brought to my door.”

The man gulped again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yes, sir. I’ll…send my son later today. Thank you for your business, sir.”

_He_ should _be grateful_ , Sephiroth thought. _I’ve just made this place famous._

“And,” Sephiroth said after a heavy pause, “there is one more thing….”

* * *

 

Hana had always been fascinated by Continental fashions. Traditional Wutaian clothes did not display even near this variety. There was everything from the sleek, pristine style of the business class to the baggy, purposely damaged clothes of the rebels. The bright to the subtle, plain to gaudy, lots of fabric to very little – it was all woven together in an array she did not quite understand. What you wore said something about you, something entirely more than rank or status. It represented personality, values, and attitudes on a much more individual level than Wutaian wear allowed.

She stared at the racks and racks of clothes, not knowing where to even start.

She recognized none of the fashions from the last time she’d been on the Continent. Not only had her locale changed since she was a preteen, but so had the times. Fashion was ever-evolving. It was dizzying, but exciting at the same time.

She stood at the entrance, looking at a large map of the store posted in a frame on the wall. The women’s apparel was on the north end, subdivided into so many sections that it made her head hurt, and she needed to visit every one. Sighing, she made her way back. It would be exhausting, but potentially a lot of fun too.

_Women’s Tops_ was the first section she encountered, labeled from a sign hanging from the ceiling. It was as good a place to start as any.

The music was serene, the paparazzi were preoccupied with Sephiroth at the moment, and there weren’t many shoppers in the area. It was peaceful to leaf through the racks of clothes on her own, exploring each piece in all its uniqueness. Before long, she had several shirts draped over her arm, none of them similar in any way. She had decided somewhere in the middle of the second rack that the best way to find what she liked was to try on radically different items and then find others similar to the ones she liked.

“You, Wutai girl!”

Hana jumped at the accusatory call. Naturally, she was the only Wutaian girl present, so there was no denying that it was her that they were after. To make matters worse, the other customers’ attention had been drawn as well. Her cover had been blown, and now she was the subject of everyone’s stares. Whispers started immediately.

What was taking Sephiroth so long? This never would have happened if he’d been here.

The speaker was a woman in her early twenties, dressed in a trim, no-nonsense business suitcoat and skirt, a white, billowy blouse spilling from inside her jacket. Her hair was a dusty blonde, pulled back in a bun so tight that you could see the strain along her hairline. Her hands were on her hips, nose up in the air, shoulders thrown back proud. Thin, tight lips were pulled into a slight sneer, looking down disdainfully on Hana through half-moon glasses on a beaded chain around her neck.

“You don’t know your size. You will need to be fitted.” That was all she said. The thin, sharp heels of her shoes clacked on the ground as she marched away.

Only several steps later did Hana realize that she was being asked—or _commanded_ —to follow. As much as she was intimidated by this woman, she had a point. She had no idea what size she was. The shirts in her arms ranged from size two to thirty; it was a problem that she hadn’t considered yet.

Hana pulled the clothes tighter to her and followed the woman to the changing rooms. She only knew it was a mistake when the woman took her by the shoulders, pushed her into a changing-room stall, and locked the both of them inside.

* * *

 

She couldn’t be abducted, Hana reasoned. The only way out of the changing room was the way they came in. There were no weapons in sight, and while this woman was taller, she wasn’t big enough to throttle her either. No imminent physical threat was evident. That aside, she still felt that the gut-dropping sensation of danger that had suddenly seized her was more than reasonably justified.

Her assailant may not have been armed, but her eyes burned with an indignation that drained the blood from Hana’s face. She had no idea what she had done to incite that fury; regardless, she feared the way that this woman single-mindedly focused all that rage on her.

“So what’s the truth?” the woman spat through clenched teeth.

“…I’m sorry?” Hana asked. _Act naive and innocent. Be a ditzy little airhead,_ Sephiroth had said. _The more they underestimate you, the better. Keep your cards close until it’s time to play._ In this situation, however, she did not have to feign her confusion.

“Who’s right?” she said, still staring Hana down. She wasn’t that much taller than Hana, but her righteous anger amplified the difference. “ _Who_ brought _who_ back from Wutai?”

Hana blinked, and slowly realized what was going on.

_Oh… **no**_... _she’s a **fangirl**...._

“Are the rumors true?” she continued, throwing her words like strikes of a whip. She leaned in close, flaming eyes only inches from hers. “Did you really _hex_ him?”

“No! That’s completely insane!” Hana said.

“Then why else would he bring back a flimsy, filthy little _blip_ like _you_?”

Hana’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. The stall was small, and there was no room to maneuver away. She swallowed and forced her spine to straighten, even though she was straightening her back against the corner.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Hana said resolutely. “Our private lives are none of your business!” Not exactly a ditzy answer fitting with her starry-eyed tourist act, but she had had quite enough of this already. The sooner she nipped this in the bud, the better.

They were at a deadlock. The woman upped the ire in her eyes, and Hana met her gaze with one of steel. “If that’s all you have to say,” Hana said, “then I have better things to do.”

Several seconds passed before the woman closed her eyes and pulled back from her visual assault. She pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger and gave a sigh. “You don’t act like a dainty little war bride, girl.” There was something akin to amusement in her voice. “I fully expected you to start crying the moment I started shouting.”

That raised Hana’s hackles. “Sorry to disappoint,” Hana spat. Her assailant had backed down on the intensity but Hana was not about to follow.

“Hmph. So frailty isn’t on your list of sins, at least.”

“And who are _you_ to judge?”

“You may call me Milda,” she said dryly, looking condescendingly at her through those glasses, a glare passing over the lenses so she couldn’t properly see her eyes. “And you have made a grave mistake in crossing me.”

“ _I’m_ not the one who has done the crossing! You’re the one who pinned me in here!”

“Not without just cause, you miserable little fool.” She examined her pristine, manicured fingernails at arm’s length, looking at them like a sadist examining his dagger.

“Jealous, much?” Hana sneered. “You’re disgusting!”

Milda’s eyes flared like dry leaves in a fire. The burst was brief, but the remnants smoldered in the crazed heat of passion.

“Do not compare me to those sniveling fangirls who are whining because their eye-candy is taken.”

“And how are _you_ any different?” Hana shot back, unintimidated, forcing her opponent back as she took deliberate steps forward. “Bullying me in here because I married who I did, accusing me of something as ludicrous as _witchcraft_. You know nothing about anything but you sure parade like you do! What’s next? ‘I know what’s really best for him?’ Or maybe ‘He’d be so much happier with me?’”

Milda pursed her bloodless lips, brows dropping threateningly. “The _difference_ ,” Milda said through grit teeth, “is I _do_ know that _you_ ,” she pointed a harsh, accusatory finger at Hana’s chest, “are the absolute worst thing that could ever have happened to him!”

She ended on a shrill shriek that filled the small dressing room. There were no other customers near, but that cry was likely to have drawn attention from outside. Milda’s mouth snapped shut, perhaps realizing this, but it was far too late to do anything about it.

“Listen, filthy whelp,” Milda sneered. “I _do_ know what is really best for him, and I swear this….”

She took that accusatory finger and jabbed her harshly to punctuate every word, sending Hana back until she was cornered again.

“It. Is. Not. _You_.”

“Is everything alright in there, Hana?” The voice was Sephiroth’s.

Hana looked at Milda, who seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. Her eyes were wide, the rage gone and replaced with wonder. “His voice…” she mouthed with a swoon, falling to her knees. Tears were brimming at the corners of her eyes. “I…heard him speak….”

Hana’s own anger was extinguished at the sight. Something about her was pitiful now, and sad. “Yes…dear,” she called to her husband. It was still hard to say the word, but it was another necessity that she had to get used to for as long as they continued their charade with the press. “Everything is fine. I’m just being fitted.”

“All right,” he said. “Don’t take too long, we have a lot of places to visit.”

“I’m just about done.”

Hana turned to Milda, who had since composed herself. She brushed off her skirt, making sure it lay perfectly flat, and righted her glasses. “Hana,” she said, calm as a summer’s dawn. “We will meet again.”

She opened the door to the stall and walked out, heels clacking the beat of her footsteps. She stopped several feet from the doorway leading out into the store. “You’re wasting your time in the regular women’s section,” she said with a snort. “You’re definitely a petite.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Hana said, unsure if Milda had meant that offensively or not. At any rate, she was unwilling to fan the embers of their argument again.

Milda turned and faced her then, staring straight into her eyes without anger or guile. Hana saw it, then. Behind the anger was something else, something she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see.

“Don’t you dare hurt him,” Milda whispered. “Not one frown, not even one crease in his forehead, got it?”

Hana frowned deeply. “I’ll…try.”

Milda lowered her head, pivoted, and ran.

* * *

 

“Did you see her?” Hana asked.

“Briefly,” Sephiroth replied, muted, as the reporters were getting bolder and were closer than before. “Her head was down as she ran past me. She couldn’t even look at me. Tripped a little, too.” He scoffed softly. “She should have known better than to try to sprint in those heels.”

“Ah,” she said.

“Your first encounter with a fangirl,” Sephiroth said with a grim half-smirk.

“You knew she was a fangirl?”

“I guessed. I heard some of your…ah… _conversation_ , and the way she ran past me confirmed it. I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought something like this might happen. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

Hana shrugged. “Unavoidable. You’re a celebrity. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“Indeed.” He observed the way she searched through the shirts. “You are extremely distracted,” Sephiroth noted, and she was. She was flipping idly through the racks, looking at the shirts, but not seeing. She couldn’t even remember anything about the last several items.

Hana shook her head. “I just can’t get it off my mind, I guess."

“Are you upset?”

“No. Just thinking. I don’t understand it at all.”

“Don’t think about it, then,” Sephiroth said. “I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.”

“Maybe that’s best.”

Milda had said they would meet again, but how? If she was just a citizen off the streets, it would be unlikely that they would ever see each other again. Perhaps she worked for ShinRa, or was had access to some sort of inside information like the press. She was dressed so smartly that she would not have been surprised, but she could also have been a businesswoman or shopkeeper or unemployed for all Hana knew.

Who was Milda, and why had she lodged herself so firmly in Hana’s thoughts?


	14. Niisan

Playing dress-up for the press got very old, very fast, for the both of them.

She’d hauled a small cart full of clothes into the dressing room, all pre-approved by Sephiroth, or at least not meriting a grimace. In the beginning, she came out with the item on to get Sephiroth’s opinion (he may not have been the most savvy in women’s fashions but even he knew more than she did), as well as to entertain the press, who had lost none of their vigor even after this long. But after feedback on three shirts and two pairs of pants, she had more of a feel for how things were supposed to fit and so she stopped the fashion parade, evaluating each item in the privacy of her own changing stall. The press was sorely disappointed but could do nothing with Sephiroth standing vigil.

He was remarkably patient, seemingly very content just to sit and be.

When she came out she had enough clothes to constitute a small wardrobe, at least enough to go a week without doing laundry. Sephiroth deterred the paparazzi, who were practically salivating to get a peek at Hana’s final selections, by heaping the clothes unceremoniously at the bottom of the cart, out of sight. “Shoes?” he asked.

“No more,” Hana moaned as quietly as she could. “I can’t do it.” She let her head fall against his chest, hoping the press caught the blatant cue that she was exhausted.

“One pair of shoes and we’ll get out of here,” Sephiroth said. “It's the dead of winter, too cold to wear those geta sandals.” The crowd was starting to grate on him as well. He gripped her shoulders, pulled her up to proper posture, and pushed the cart along.

“Take your shoes off and size your feet there,” Sephiroth pointed to a measured diagram on the ground. “Pick a pair of boots. They’re versatile enough to last until we get you more options. I’ll get you some socks.”

Hana slipped her feet out of her shoes and began. She had her size in five seconds, and then grabbed the first pair of boots she saw, barely looking at them. She stuffed her feet in, scuffed around a bit, and determined that they were a good fit. Content, she sat down and showed her find to Sephiroth, who had returned with several pairs of plain white socks. Without a word, he put the boots back and selected the same style in brown instead of black. She did not protest in the interest of getting out of there as fast as possible. He gave a small smirk, as if reading her motives. _Like you don’t want out too_ , she thought, and would have stuck her tongue out at him if it hadn’t been for the press.

“We did well. We are done with the kitchen and have a good start on your wardrobe,” Sephiroth said. “Are you hungry?”

Hana looked behind her. She couldn’t decide if her hunger was strong enough to brave eating in front of the paparazzi or if she could wait until they reached the privacy of ShinRa headquarters. “Uh…” she said, torn by the dilemma.

They purchased the clothes without incident. Hana had to wonder how the press was still continuing with their story, kept as they were at such a distance from them. She wondered if any of them had a good enough zoom feature on their camera to get a glimpse of the clothes she bought as they were briefly revealed to be scanned before disappearing into bags. When it was done, Sephiroth, in a theatrically gentlemanly gesture, grabbed all three large bags of clothes in one hand and led her out of the store with the other arm loosely draped around her waist. 

And then, blessedly, they exited the store. Enormous, empathetically shared relief washed across whatever bond existed between. _We did it._ Hana shared a small, genuine smile and Sephiroth gave a nod of acknowledgement. _It’s over._

He led her to a small, brightly colored stand set up in a corner of the mall not far from the exit. “Two, please,” he said, sliding several gil across the counter. “And a small cone.”

And so, with minimal time lost, the pair received hot dogs that they ate out of napkins on the go. Sephiroth gave her the ice cream cone, and she beamed up at him, laying the enthusiasm on thick. _Starry-eyed lover_ , _final act,_ she reminded herself. Even so, even if it had only been a stunt to show the press how spoiled she was (…was she…?), it had been a nice gesture and she appreciated it. She told him so, quietly, as they finally exited the mall. He only hummed softly in response.

The doors to freedom swung open and Hana sucked in the fresh air, exhaling it in a sigh of pleasure. The day was beautiful. The skies were clear and blue, the beaming sun taking the bite out of the crisp air. The large plaza was covered by a glass ceiling, etched with a design of feathers, sunlight spilling through the panes above them and scattering into rainbow shards on the brick walkways. Small heating units built into the structure kept the snow well at bay except for sparkling wisps at the fringes of the plaza. It was warm enough that a large fountain still ran, its quiet murmuring swallowed up in the sound of…

…Hundreds of screaming people, the vast majority of them women, clamoring to get into the mall, held back by police tape, fences, and no less than ten armed ShinRa infantrymen.      

“Oh,” Hana said. “That’s why we weren’t swarmed.”

Sephiroth grunted, staring in stunned dismay at the throng. As he pulled out her cloak and secured it around her neck, the resolute, silent sentiment was as shared as it was unspoken: _We're never doing this again._

"I’ll call the cab,” Sephiroth said, setting the bags on the ground to remove his phone from his coat. “If the infantrymen are here, chances are that it’s close by too.”

Hana seated herself on a stone bench, looking out at the crowd. A sudden flash of light made her cry out and throw her hands over her eyes. _A camera? No, too bright…_

Squinting cautiously, even though the light had disappeared, she scanned the crowd, and gasped.

“Sephiroth,” she said. “I can’t get in the cab. _He’s_ here.”

Sephiroth took the phone away from his ear, examining the people intensely. “Don’t let him know you’ve seen him!” she hissed. Sephiroth looked at her out of the corners of his eyes in exasperation, but nonetheless continued his search with a softened gaze, nonchalantly and naturally eyeing the crowd.

“Ah…over there,” he said, not concentrating too long on where his target was, but not letting the man out of his field of vision either. “Though I can't say I see the resemblance.”

“What do I do?” she turned her gaze up to him.

Sephiroth pocketed the phone. “Do what you must,” was all he offered.

“Not _here_!”

Sephiroth hummed as a cab bearing the ShinRa logo slowly broke through the gathered crowd. “I suggest we both take the cab,” he said.

“Can he follow?”

“Easier to follow a cab than break into the ShinRa building,” Sephiroth said. “It’s his move, now. If he’s smart, he’ll seize the opportunity.”

Hana looked out into the crowd and met those dark, familiar eyes for only a moment. It _hurt_. She felt something very akin to physical pain lance through her chest. Fighting back waves of emotion, she rose to her feet and timidly wrapped her arms around Sephiroth’s forearm, holding it close, and keeping her eyes on the ground. “Let’s do it, then.”

“Do what you must,” Sephiroth repeated. “In the end, you must decide for yourself.”

He led her to the cab and opened her door for her. She did not meet his eyes as he entered the car. Hana couldn’t feel Sephiroth’s eyes on her either.

“Back to the ShinRa building?” the cab driver asked.

“No,” Hana said. “Please take me to the izakaya. The Wutaian Pub…Ma’s place.”

“And I will return to headquarters,” Sephiroth said.

And then they were off.

Through the window, Hana could see a lone man weave deftly through the crowd, his flight sending ripples of movement through the densely packed people. Before the crowd was out of sight, she saw him again, at the forefront of the throng. He had broken through.

She was too far away to see his eyes, but he had a small pocket mirror and was directing the sunlight at her. Light flashed across her vision again, and she got his message loud and clear.

_I’ve found you._

He was on her trail.

* * *

 

No one was on the street outside Ma’s izakaya. It was far too early in the afternoon for most people to frequent the pub. Hana didn’t even know if Ma would have opened the place yet. She didn’t try to enter, but crouched down under the large red lantern, back against the wall, hugging her knees to conserve her own body heat. It was chilly, and though her cloak kept the worst of it away, it wasn't as much cover as she would have liked. She draped the end of it over her feet, as her geta sandals offered little protection.

When Sephiroth had left in the cab, with only one last glance, it felt like abandonment, but it would have been worse if he had said something, she decided.

Her heart was throbbing hard in her throat. She had known this would be coming, but she didn’t know how to prepare for it, and so she hadn’t even tried.

She still didn’t know what she would do.

And so she waited. It was, once again, all she had the power to do.

And then he came.

His face was much as she remembered it, untouched by time’s passing. He still had that boyish face, seemingly too young to be grown into manhood. His skin was tanned from long hours beneath the sun, eyes dark and fierce but lacking the depth and wisdom of years. The dark, violent scar along his jawline not faded one whit more than it ever had been since childhood.

But this time, he was dressed for the rugged life he led. His pants were denim - torn, patched, re-sewn, and stained – and on his feet were scuffed hiking boots. The only sign that he had any ties to Wutai at all was a peek of a blue, high-collared changshan shirt under a brown leather jacket and the belts strapping his scabbard and quiver to his back.

“Niisan,” Hana said, rising to her feet.

This time, he looked like the wild man that, deep down, she had always known him to be. It still jarred her. It was the same voice and face and eyes, but playing the role of a rugged wanderer that she did not recognize.

“Sister,” he said, approaching slowly, as if he knew that the change in him would alarm her. But when they were side by side, he did not hesitate to close the gap between them and grabbed her in a tight embrace. “I’ve found you at last!”

Hana let it happen. “Brother,” she said, and embraced him back. She wanted to believe things could be the same; that their bond hadn’t changed. For now, she ignored the years and the change wrought in both of them and imagined herself as a little girl basking in the adoration of her faithful big brother.

“You’re safe?” he asked. Hana smiled, remembering how he would dote over her every time she came home with the smallest scrape or…she pushed the memories away.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m safe.”

“When he took you I was so scared he—“

“No, no. I’m okay.”

“I came as soon as I could—“

“I knew you would,” and tears sprang to her eyes. Her brother, her protector, here at last. She rested her head in his shoulder and let herself be a child again.

“Come on, it’s all over now,” he said, resting a hand on her head and pressing her into him comfortingly. “It’s time to go home.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Geta - traditional Japanese sandals, they look like flip-flops with thick soles.
> 
> 2) Niisan - Older brother. The use of the ~san suffix implies a normal level of politeness (as in Mr. or Mrs.)


	15. Silver on Black

_Sephiroth was waiting for him, sitting on his heels before the shrine’s solitary bell. He had already dressed himself in a black hakama and bound his long, silver hair in a band at his shoulders, the silvery lengths running as a streak of moonlight down his spine. His face still could not be seen through the veil of his bangs but for the firm and rigid set of his jaw._

_His sights were set on the bell, taller even than he at full height and the width of five more men. On its well-weathered iron surface had been carved the faces of gods and demons, symbols both with and without meaning. He raised his head to examine every detail, up to the top of the bell, shrouded though it was in the shadows of the rafters._

_He was a solemn, solitary figure in the half-darkness of the twilight. The sounds of nature had stopped in reverence of the hour, those who had come to pray had long since left, and even the priests had retired for the night. The shrine was still, but not at peace. Perhaps even the spirits had taken leave of their vigil when he who had slaughtered so much of Wutai had stepped across the shrine’s threshold._

_How unfair, he thought, as this man was not here to profane this place. His notorious blade had been left behind, well off the hallowed grounds of the shrine, and he had even consented to be dressed in traditional Wutaian clothing in respect for the place and the occasion. Though some would say he was the spirit of war incarnate, he had not brought the taint of war with him to this place._

_Or at least…he had tried not to._

_“You do not look to be the destroyer of Wutai, young man,” he said in a dry, wispy voice, a small smile only just visible under the brim of his hat that masked the rest of his face._

_Sephiroth lowered his head until his line of sight was parallel with the ground, but did not look away from the bell before him._

_“You are Ryouan?” Sephiroth asked simply._

_“I am,” the shrine priest said, hobbling forward with the assistance of his tall staff, its golden rings tinkling softly with each movement. “Hana-chan has already told you about me, then, and you hardly need any introduction. Shall we agree to dispense with the pleasantries?”_

_“Please,” Sephiroth said, and Ryouan took a seat on the floor beside him, facing the bell, as his silver-haired guest did._

_A moment of silence passed as the two men sat in the shadow of the great bell._

_“Have you come here to pray?” Ryouan asked, waving a weathered hand towards the bell._

_“I was merely inspecting its design,” Sephiroth said without emotion. “I did not even know it was used for prayer.”_

_“Will you pray now that you know its purpose?”_

_Sephiroth’s lips curled into a wry smile. “I would not know how. I have never been taught to believe in deity, much less worship.”_

_Ryouan folded his leathery hands in prayer position over his heart, bowing his head. “My heart is grieved with all that my granddaughter has told me. Allow me to pray for a moment, for the both of us.”_

_Sephiroth silently observed as the monk struck the bell, a low and sorrowful peal ringing through the empty shrine. Against that strong note, the monk’s three, slow claps sounded weak and frail, enveloped by the darkness of the shrine. Ryouan bowed his head as if in serene submission to that darkness, and prayed in silence until the bell’s resonant tones finally faded and died._

_“Hana is preparing herself,” Ryouan said. “She has insisted that we proceed quickly. Are you of the same mind?”_

_“I am,” Sephiroth said. “I must return to Midgar tomorrow. I have only tonight to finish all the necessary preparations for our return.”_

_“To be so hastily married under the cover of night, to a man both a foreigner and a stranger…you must understand that it is not the way I would have chosen to give away my precious granddaughter.” His voice carried the weight of a thousand years of sorrow. Ryouan’s back bent under the burden, but he retained a quiet dignity still._

_“I understand,” Sephiroth said. “Even so, I have spared time to do this as properly as the circumstances allow.” He continued slowly. “I do not know how these matters are conducted here in Wutai, but all the same, as I am sure you are already aware, I have come here to ask for Hana’s hand in marriage, and your blessing on our union.”_

_Ryouan sighed deeply, small and withered beside Sephiroth’s tall and proud form. One hand reached to softly stroke his chin. “I am glad that you have done this, at least. It must have been a terrible inconvenience to leave your post and your men even for this small gesture.” Sephiroth said nothing in response, and so Ryouan continued. “Let us begin, then. Tell me of your ancestry.”_

_“I know nothing of it. I was orphaned shortly after my birth, and I was raised as a ward of ShinRa.”_

_“No family?” Ryouan frowned. “Many Wutaian fathers would deny you their daughters for that alone. But,” he continued quickly to dispel the tension of an impending refusal, “it is of little consequence now. Do you make enough money to support my granddaughter?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You have a place to live?_

_“Yes.”_

_“You vow to treat her with respect and honor her as your wife?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Do you anticipate children?”_

_This question was met with stunned silence. Ryouan laughed gently. “There is time to settle that later. He then nodded solemnly, all the laughter drained from his dark eyes. “And I will vouch for your honor. That is all that is needed for a proper marriage.”_

_“I am prepared to pay a dowry, as is the custom,” Sephiroth said._

_Ryouan looked at the man, taken aback. “It’s hardly necessary. Traditionally it would go to the father, and I don’t know how much Hana has told you about that man but…”_

_"I do not offer it to him, I offer it to you.”_

_This did not persuade the priest. “I am on her mother’s side of the family. If she was still in high favor as a court lady, a mighty dowry would be demanded, perhaps even to me in light of her father’s betrayal.” He sighed. “But as things stand today, there is nothing of meaning that you could offer to her ancestral family. They are dead.”_

_“You remain,” Sephiroth said. “And I want to do as much as possible in the traditional way, in case the legitimacy of our marriage should be called into question.”_

_Ryouan nodded, conceding. “Perhaps that is wise.”_

_“I know that priests have no need of money, and yet that is all I really have to offer. In exchange for her hand, I offer to pay for the repair of the shrine and restore the funds you use to support the poor or otherwise use as you see fit.”_

_Ryouan humbly bowed his head. “An unusual and modest dowry to be sure, especially coming from you, but a fitting one. You are an honorable man to offer that, General. Hana will be pleased that her dowry will not be spent on frivolities, but on aid for her countrymen.” He wondered if Sephiroth had come up with the idea himself or if Hana had instructed him. He was a good man, or willing to take the advice of his wife – but not unlikely both. It was a good omen, and it brought a small breath of hope into Ryouan’s heavy heart._

_“You approve of our marriage, then?”_

_Ryouan scratched the back of his head, looking up into the rafters. “You must understand. Race means nothing within these walls, and neither does the war. As removed as we are from the world, such political matters do not concern us. I do not hesitate because you are from the Continent, or because you have a personal hand in the war against our homeland. I hesitate because of who Hana is, on both a personal and ancestral level.”_

_Sephiroth hummed a soft note of understanding._

_“Has she told you of her ancestry?”_

_“She has told me enough.”_

_“I will not consent until she has told you everything. If you are to be accepted as a son of the Kazehawa family, you will take upon yourself responsibilities and dangers. Many have gone as far as to say that our family is cursed. I will not have you join with her to take upon this blight blindly.”_

_“I understand.” Sephiroth’s gaze did not move. Ryouan was quite certain that he didn’t so much as blink._

_Ryouan frowned. “Then I will leave it for the two of you to decide. There is only one last matter then….”_

_The priest turned his gaze to Sephiroth and studied him thoroughly. He knew that the General knew full well of what he spoke – it hung in the air like a pall._

_“She has assured me,” Sephiroth said quietly, “that women in her station are used to being given in marriage, knowing much less about their husbands than she does about me.”_

_“You do not pretend to love her, then.”_

_The strong set of Sephiroth’s countenance did not falter in the slightest. “I do not,” he said._

_The two men sat in the silence of the temple beneath the shadow of the bell. All the help of heaven had left the shrine, and both men felt the spirits’ absences._

_“You are honest, at least,” Ryouan offered. “…And you know that her sentiments are the same?”_

_Sephiroth nodded. “We are under no illusions of romance.”_

_“This marriage reeks of misfortune,” Ryouan lamented. “Wutai would be offended because the formalities have been discarded, and the Continent would criticize you because there is no love. Neither land will accept this union. If I sanction this, I will be the only one!”_

_Sephiroth said nothing in return, and let the criticism fall like rain._

_Ryouan straightened his robes, adjusted his hat, and repositioned his body, shaking off emotion and once again falling into the role of the revered patriarch. “Hana has always been a different child,” he began. “Others with mixed blood have acclimated to one culture or the other, or even to both, but whatever land she has been in, she has been rejected just as she has ultimately rejected them. She has no homeland…no home…not according to the law and not in her own heart. In her, each force of the East and the West is so strong that they cannot be reconciled with each other. This conflict…her mother and I had faith that it would settle with time, but it has not. She may be an exile until the day she dies.”_

_Sephiroth continued to listen without comment._

_“I wish she would have been happy to take the hand of a court official and marry according to the old ways, but her heart beats too passionately for an arranged marriage. As she grew, I had hope that she would follow her Continental blood, and marry for love and find happiness there. Her mother seemed to believe that as well._

_“And that is my true grievance against what you are asking me to do.”_

_Ryouan reached into his robe and pulled out a tiny white flower, stem gently held between two fingers. Sephiroth turned, drawn by the powerful scent that the blossom exuded. “That flower…?”_

_“Do you understand?” Ryouan asked, taking the General’s gloved hand, opening his fingers, and placing the flower in his palm. In the gentle moonlight, petals of translucent pearl shimmered a soft silver on the black of his hand._

_Ryouan rose to his feet, leaving Sephiroth on his knees, eyes intently on the small flower. “I will follow the Continental tradition of letting my daughter decide. Though I am afraid she can’t be happy with you, I recognize that my forcing her either way will only make her more miserable. I will discuss my concerns with her, and then leave the decision to the two of you. You are a good man; I believe that. If she consents, and you still wish to proceed after knowing the extent of the Kazehawa curse, then the both of you have my blessing, and I will perform the marriage immediately.”_

_Ryouan left the man before the prayer bell. As he left, hobbling with the aid of his staff, he longed to hear the peals of the prayer bell again, or anything to fill the bleak vacuum that had consumed the once sacred grounds._

_“Why do you do this?” Ryouan asked, but Sephiroth was silent, Hana was not likely to speak, and the spirits were gone. There would be no answer to his question._

_As Sephiroth rose to follow, the flower slipped through his fingertips. The frail thing fell as softly and silently as a feather, and he watched, transfixed, as it danced to its inevitable end._

_The sight of the silver petals against the blackest of nights was burned into his eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Hakama - traditional, formal wear for both men and women. It is a long-sleeved top tucked into a separate, long and pleated skirt tied at the waist. It is the traditional dress of a groom.


	16. Into the Night

Hana let the words wash over her as she took in the wild, soothing scent of her vagabond brother. _Home_. She could leave it all, forget it ever happened. She could hide in some secluded corner of the world, living off the land as her brother did with him at her side: her protector, her only family.

She let herself believe it for only a few seconds, sighing as the truth of the matter returned to replace the blissful dream.

“Niichan,” she said. “I can’t go.”

“Of course you can,” he said with a scoff, patting her head. “I’ve got a place ready for us. It’s a small little shack right now, but with the blessing of the planet, we can build on to it. I’ll build whatever you want – it will be our dream home.”

Hana smiled. Her brother had always been tinkering and building, but she had no idea that his skills had been such that he could build an actual home. She actually kind of doubted it, but in a kind, knowing way.

“We can leave the past behind us,” her brother said, reverently whispering. “Wutai, the Continent, the wars, Father…none of it has to follow us. It will be just you, me, and the planet. Isn’t that what we’ve always dreamed of?”

Hana groaned from deep within her heart. _Yes,_ she thought as her eyes began to burn. “Those were our dreams as kids,” she said. “We’re older now. We both know I can’t escape.” She squeezed him tighter. “But you have a chance, brother. You should go.”

Her brother stood in stunned silence, and his grip on her went slack. His voice was tender, and hurt. “Hana, you don’t believe me?”

“Look, it’s not like that—“

“What are your doubts?” he asked, resolved once again. “I’ve thought it all out! What are you afraid of? Don’t you think I can protect you, or provide for you? The planet is gracious, and I am strong.”

“Can you protect me from Father’s armies?”

“Don’t be silly, sis, Father doesn’t have an army—“

“He does,” she said. “A few nights ago, he sent men skilled enough to break through security in the ShinRa building to capture me. I don’t know how many more he has, but men like that never serve anyone without a lot of money or power, or both!”

Her brother let out a string of low curses powerful enough to turn the air green. “…Fine. So he’s clawed his way up the ranks again. It doesn’t matter. He can’t find us there.”

“Niichan,” Hana pled. “I can’t run anymore. I’m tired of it. I’ve taken my stand.”

“You’re not a fighter Hana. You never were. Not a chance.”

Hana choked back the memories of the bursts of lifeblood and cries of pain from her countrymen, still vivid and raw. “I’ve changed.”

“What do you mean?” he said with a chuckle. “That’s ridiculous! I know you too well to ever think you could—“

“ _I killed them!_ ” Hana screamed, pushing her brother away. The memories burst from behind whatever fragile wall she’d managed to contain them in with enough force to rattle her entire body. “ _I_ shot them. I shot them so many times I don’t even know—even after they were dead it was like I couldn’t stop! They wouldn’t have killed me but I still—I—it was all so red, red… _red_! I couldn’t think or breathe I just shot and shot and one even tried to reason with me and I just shot and—“

Her brother grabbed her again, grappling against her flailing until he had her wrists locked into his grip. “That wasn’t you, Hana,” he said urgently. “You would never hurt anyone! It was that monster husband-“

“It wasn’t Sephiroth!” she screamed, locking her wild eyes with his, jerking her hands free, and punching her brother back with every word. “It. Wasn’t. Him. It. Was. Me. Me! _Me! I_ pulled the trigger. _I_ killed them. It was all…my…fault…I… _killed_ ….”

She slowed, out of breath and energy. Slowly, shuddering with remnants of fear, she sank to her knees on the street. She no longer had the reserves to fight it. She couldn't be angry any longer. She never had been angry, only hurt and afraid.

Hana turned one eye to her brother. He was breathing hard from defending himself against her blows. “Hana,” he said, wiping a rivulet of blood trickling from his nose across his sleeve. “Look at all he’s done to you.”

His words sent a shot of white-hot, electric pain through her chest. She had hit her brother, drawn his blood. As an answer to his offer of peace she had returned violence. In only the few days since her marriage, she really had been turned into someone else, someone she didn’t want to know or face.

“It wasn’t him,” Hana insisted weakly. “It was all me.” And the more she thought about it, the more she really believed it. Sephiroth had been the catalyst; his only crime had been to expose what she had been too blind to see in herself.

Her brother knelt down in the street beside her and embraced her, giving her back several hearty pats. “Hey,” he said. “You’re strong. All this...it kept you safe. Right?”  

Hana didn’t respond.

“But…you don’t have to be that person anymore. Come with me. We’ll forget all this.”

“I can’t forget—“

“Sister, the planet is so much stronger than you know! It can heal anything, I swear it. It will take away everything as we live a simple, peaceful life in harmony with nature.”

His fingertips were pressing firmly into a small spot on her back, and she was starting to feel strange. She tried to tell him so but could hardly move her lips to talk.

“Nii—cha--!”

“Hey, don’t struggle, ok? You’re upset now, but everything will be better soon.”

“Nnn--!”

“It’s going to be okay. Promise.”

He pressed a cloth to her face, and she didn’t even have time to smell the chemical before she fell unconscious.

Only one pair of eyes witnessed the abduction, but thankfully, it was the right pair.

* * *

 

Sephiroth’s purchases arrived well before he did. Angeal and Genesis stood outside the door to his new apartment and watched two delivery men haul in enough tools and gadgets to fully equip the spacious kitchen.

“Seph’s quality of food is about to skyrocket,” Angeal said. “No more cafeteria for him.”

“Lucky,” Genesis said, a wistful pout on his face. Angeal chuckled, knowing that it would not be long at all before Genesis got desperate enough to attempt thievery.

“Let’s unpack these things,” Angeal said, letting himself into Sephiroth’s apartment. The place was still not arranged, and still well under-furnished, but all of his old things had been put in some sort of order. “It will help Hana, so she can just worry about arranging them.” He didn’t wait for Genesis to follow, but immediately took a box of dishes from one of the men and began to carefully unpack and unwrap them.

Genesis followed his friend to the table, but hardly helped. He took the unpackaged plates from Angeal and inspected each before placing it back down on the table. “She has good tastes,” he said, spinning a plate while balancing it on one fingertip. “Sturdy, sensible, and stylish.”

Angeal sent his friend a look but let him do as he pleased as he gathered the packing material and pushed it aside. He hoisted up a microwave next and began his work again.

Angeal had all of the dishes and many of the appliances unpacked and arranged in neat categories on the kitchen table and the floor around it when Sephiroth arrived. “Back from your publicity stunt?” Genesis asked, poking the buttons on the blender in boredom. “Quite a show, really. If you truly were on stage, I would insist on an encore performance. As it is, I still might.”

Sephiroth stormed to the table only to snatch a large, gift-wrapped box up from the pile and take it to his bedroom, firmly shutting the door behind him. His snappy, concise movements and stony silence left no room for discussion.

“O...kay…” Angeal said, staring at the shut door down the hall.

“Where’s Hana?” Genesis asked. He might as well have been addressing the door.

Angeal rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Dear Gaia….”

“Don’t tell me you guys got in _another_ fight,” Genesis said. “Come on, you just bought her all this stuff! How hard could it be to keep her happy after that?”

“He’s probably just overwhelmed from all that attention,” Angeal said, though that hardly explained Hana’s absence.

Genesis picked up the TV from where it had been set on the floor, moved it in front of the couch, and turned it on to the news. “Well, my friend, we’re in for another long wait.”

“What?”

“Well he has to come out _eventually_ ,” Genesis said, pulling the coffee table in front of the couch. He did a bit of rummaging around in the bookshelf for the remote and then, content, made himself at home on the couch in front of the TV, using the table as a footstool. "Until then, we might as well get comfortable. You can make yourself useful and order takeout. It might be a while.”

Angeal stared at his red-headed friend, already draped limply over the couch and phasing out as he stared blankly at the news – still replaying footage from Sephiroth’s shopping adventures that day. Was this a good idea?

“And get a movie while you’re at it. Seph doesn’t get anything worth watching.”

Angeal opened his wallet and warily eyed its contents. “Are you going to contribute?”

Genesis scowled but fished out his own leather billfold, tossing several bills and a small handful of coins in Angeal’s general direction without looking away from the screen. Angeal lowered his eyebrows at the gil scattered all over the floor, but Genesis didn’t see his glare. “You better get lots of popcorn. And some chocobo puffs too.”

Angeal picked up the money. “Fine,” he said. As he tucked the money away, he peeked back at Sephiroth’s door. “Any requests, Sephiroth?” he asked for good measure, though he was not surprised when no answer was given.

“Speak now or live with whatever junk Angeal’s in the mood for,” Genesis added. “…Have it your way.” He waved a hand at Angeal in a gesture to get on it.

Angeal couldn’t help a smile as he left. Maybe Genesis was right. Something about the situation did make him think that Sephiroth needed their help. It seemed that for once, Genesis had picked up on it before he had.

This time, Angeal decided, they weren’t going to leave him alone.

* * *

 

When Angeal returned, Sephiroth was on the couch. There was a very defined distance between him and Genesis, with one man on either end of the couch, but the fact that he had come out at all was reassuring. He, like Genesis, was staring at the screen, though he was less slouched than the redhead.

“What are you watching?” Angeal asked with a grimace. Colorful blobs were dancing across an equally vivid backdrop, singing in high-pitched voices.

“Magic Moogle Mary,” Genesis said with a sneer.

“And Friends,” Sephiroth added, deadpan.

“Are they trying to make the rising generation psychotic?" Angeal asked. Strangely, as much as the animation repulsed him, it was also morbidly addicting. “And why are you watching children’s television anyway?”

“It was the only channel not driveling on about Sephiroth’s shopping spree.” Genesis said. “I told you he didn’t get anything good.”

“Ah, well, let’s turn it off _right now_ and start something with some sanity.”

“It’s about time,” Genesis said as he turned the TV off with the remote. “I’m going to have nightmares tonight. In pink.”

Angeal set three shopping bags and three pizza boxes down on the table. Genesis made a dive for the bags while Angeal revealed the pizzas. “Basic triple meat, my personal choice.” He lifted the lid on the second box. “White sauce, toasted garlic pesto chicken and spinach, with _extra finely diced_ tomatoes _very_ evenly spread across the surface and the Romano cheese blend all on thin crust – for those picky eaters too high-strung to eat anything less….”

“I am not high-strung I am _refined_ ,” Genesis insisted, helping himself.

“The pizzeria hates you,” Angeal said. “And for those looking for a healthier option, there is the vegetable delight.”

“I do not think the simple presence of vegetables makes it much healthier,” Sephiroth commented, observing the sheen of butter and garlic across the entire surface.

“So eat some of Angeal’s triple meat,” Genesis said. “More protein that way, and double your satisfaction guaranteed. You know vegetables grown in Midgar are a joke anyway.”

Sephiroth looked at the slightly withered, barely colorful array spread across his pizza and nodded in agreement, though he did take a piece. “I do appreciate the sentiment, anyway.”

“You didn’t speak up when asked. You’ll have to OD on the company’s nutritionally engineered vegetable surprise tomorrow to get your health-fix," Genesis said through a mouthful of pizza.

“The point isn’t nutrition right now,” Angeal said. “And as Genesis has probably discovered, there are sodas and snacks for the movies in the bags.” He had considered getting stronger beverages, but mako-enhanced metabolisms did strange things when mixed with alcohol, and he didn’t want to compound any more problems on Sephiroth’s shoulders.

"Nobody touch my chocobo puffs,” Genesis said.

“No one wants to,” Sephiroth assured him.

“So we have three movies,” Angeal said, pulling out their options with one hand while holding a slice of triple meat pizza in the other. “ _Murder in Mideel_ , which is a highly ranked, award winning murder mystery.” He showed them the cover for several seconds. Clearly that was his favorite, but neither of his friends looked anything but indifferent toward that choice.

He continued, slightly daunted. “ _Abominable Haven_ , which is some kind of thriller survival story up in the Northern Crater…and _Inferno_ , which I have no clue as to the plot, but it has lots of fire, apparently.”

“I vote for number three,” was Genesis’s immediate response.

With a sigh, Angeal lowered the other two. “Is that all right with you, Sephiroth?”

Sephiroth shrugged. Angeal was pleased to see that he was on his second piece of pizza and had even popped open a can of soda.

Angeal put the movie in, then invited himself to sit between Genesis and Sephiroth.

For the entire length of the movie, no one said a word, only ate and drank and stared at the screen. True to the movie’s name, almost everything was almost always on fire, and Angeal, for one, couldn’t follow the plot enough to really even be able to tell why. Some people were running around screaming about something—probably escape—but it made no sense, especially because the roar of the flames made it very hard to hear what they were saying anyway. When all the fires were put out, the characters woke up in the hospital and that was that.

None of the three cared enough to turn off the TV, even after all the credits had run.

“I feel like we could have had the same cinematic experience by staring into a fireplace for two hours,” Sephiroth commented. Angeal was stunned at first that he had spoken, but laughed his initial shock away. Though probably meant more as a genuine expression of intense displeasure than a true joke, Angeal took the humor for what it was worth.

“We could have strung up a cadet for the screaming too,” Genesis added. “That would have been more fun.”

“Well, it was a distraction,” Angeal said. “And from the looks of things, it worked.”

“So I know Mr. Stony Silence probably doesn’t want to talk about it, but honestly, should we be worried about Hana? Last time she disappeared was quite the fiasco.” Genesis held his box of Chocobo Puffs upside down and shook. Sephiroth wrinkled his nose, not wanting to know what was in those things that made them cement themselves to the box.

“No, she’s with her brother.”

“Brother?” Angeal asked. “You didn’t say anything about a brother.”

“He didn’t say anything at all,” Genesis said, popping one of the chocolate clusters into his mouth. “Surprise.”

“Well that’s a good thing, right? She probably misses her family.” Angeal didn’t miss Sephiroth’s scoff before he hid it by downing more of the soda. He was drinking quite a bit of it tonight – he must be in a very bad mood, Angeal thought. He was grateful he hadn’t gone with the spirits. There was no way he would be taking this as well as he was if he had been sloshed.

“Her mother is dead,” Sephiroth said, crushing the can flat in his palms. “And her father is the one sending the troops after her.”

Genesis looked at Sephiroth. “Really?” he asked, teeth gummed up with caramel.

“And…the brother?” For once, Angeal had hope that he’d actually get answers. After all, he’d told them that much of his own violation.

Sephiroth sighed and leaned back on the couch, eyes closed. “He doesn’t approve of our marriage. He will likely try to convince her to leave with him.”

Silence. Seconds passed.

“And you’re going to let her go? Just like that?” Angeal threw at him.

“All your talk of honor,” he said, “and you’d have me force her to stay against her will? We knew he would come and this would happen. We prepared as if she was going to stay, but from the beginning, I’ve always known that it would come down to whatever she chose. It just came sooner than we planned.”

“But you’re married!” Genesis said.

“Legally, yes.”

“That does mean that she already chose you,” Angeal offered.

“Under duress. Honestly, can you see us as true husband and wife?”

Neither friend could honestly answer “yes”.

“I’m not a fool,” Sephiroth said. “Even I have known it from the start.”

“But—“ Genesis tried all the same. He turned Angeal for help, but the man only hung his head.

“If I make her stay,” Sephiroth said, “I’d be keeping her prisoner.”

“Perhaps,” Angeal said slowly, “it’s best to know now. Early on. Before…anything more can happen.”

“I don’t _believe_ this,” Genesis said, angrily ramming his whole fist into the box of Chocobo Puffs in a desperate effort to pry out the last candy. “Even if she couldn’t put up with _you_ anymore, which I can really understand, she could have at least had the decency to say goodbye to _us_!”

Angeal raised his head from where he had laid it on his palm. “Sephiroth,” he said, “you’ve changed.”

“Angeal, leave it alone.” Sephiroth said. He looked drained, exhausted, too tired to even maintain his regal posture anymore. He was just sort of draped limply across the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“I mean, you’ve talked so much about _her_ choosing _you_ , but you know, it takes two to agree to make a marriage work.”

“…And?”

“And you haven’t said anything about _your_ choice in the matter.”

Genesis suddenly became intensely interested, sensing where this was going.

“If you had the opportunity she had, if you could just walk away and never look back, would _you_ take it?”

Sephiroth waited, blinking several times, face unreadable.

“I have thought about it,” he said. “And I don’t know the answer.”

“But you’re upset about her leaving!” Genesis added. “Doesn’t that mean you want her back?”

“It’s not that simple.” Sephiroth got up from the couch and stared at the blank wall, back to his friends. “It’s too complicated to explain. Whether she stays or goes, far too much has already been done. Neither of us could ever go back to the way things were.”

Angeal rose from the couch strongly, as if to dispel the dreary aura that had settled around them. “Look, we’re being pessimists. It’s been only three hours since you got back. That’s a fine amount of time for her to chat with her brother, maybe get some dinner and catch up. There’s no proof that she’s actually _left_ yet.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Genesis said. “ _I_ wouldn’t blame her.”

“You don’t mean that, Genesis,” he said, but pointed the comment at Sephiroth. “That’s your anger talking, so be quiet before you say something much harder to take back later.” The redhead snorted and continued raiding the candy box. “So, we are going to act rationally, sit down, eat more junk and watch another movie. 

“We’re out of pizza,” Genesis said. “And soda.”

“I’ll order delivery. So sit back down. We don’t know anything yet.” Sephiroth didn’t move, and Angeal’s face softened in sympathy, even though he knew that it was the last thing that the General would ever want. “And we’re not leaving, no matter what happens tonight.”

After the title screen for _Abominable Haven_ had run, Sephiroth finally took back his seat on the couch. Genesis didn’t look at him, but reached across Angeal to wordlessly offer him his last, half-melted Chocobo Puff. Sephiroth pushed the hand away, but silently acknowledged the grudgingly given apology.

It was going to be a long night, but Sephiroth wouldn’t have to face it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translation:
> 
> 1) Nii-chan: Older brother, the ~chan suffix implying closeness, etc.


	17. Plotting an Escape

Hana couldn’t believe a lot of things. She couldn’t believe that her brother’s beliefs had turned so radical. She couldn’t believe he would stoop so low and do something so flagrantly _stupid_. Most of all, she couldn’t believe she’d fallen right into it.

Regardless of what she believed, the truth of the matter was staring her in the face: she was tied hand and foot, stuffed in the backseat of a car, and looking out her window to see the lights of Midgar growing smaller and fainter in the distance as she was carried away into the night.

“I hate you,” she spat, not for the first time. “You really are just like Father.”        

“That’s not the sister I know talking,” her brother said, barely sparing her a glance in the rearview mirror, the dashboard lights eerily illuminating his face. Underneath the cool exterior, she knew that was the lowest blow she could deal, and she knew it had struck a chord.  

“Then you don’t know me at all!” she screamed, swinging her bound hands into the back of his seat. It was pitiful vengeance. All she could do now was be a nuisance, and it was infuriating. “You show up claiming to save me, but all you’re doing is ripping away what little freedom I’ve _finally_ been able to get!”

“Freedom?” he asked, laughing bitterly. “As a slave to that monster? What freedom is that?”

Hana opened her mouth to retort but shut it again. She couldn’t say anything she hadn’t already said. It was a circle that always ended up with her lost for words.

She looked out the window again. Midgar was now almost swallowed by the night. At first, she had expected Sephiroth to come after her, but had given up the thought. He probably thought she had made up her mind and left him.

Her brother couldn’t have known that it had been the best time to kidnap her, the only time that Sephiroth wouldn’t suspect anything wrong and start a search. _Sheer, dumb luck_ she thought bitterly.

So Sephiroth wasn’t coming. She’d just have to get herself out of this mess.

She had already tested the ropes binding her; they were too strong to break. Even if she could, she couldn’t jump from the car at these speeds and she doubted she could wrestle control of the vehicle from her brother either. She was in the middle of a wasteland, the land so dead that there wasn't even a cactus to get sustenance from for miles, and so vast that she'd die of thirst or exposure before she reached civilization. She had no choice but to sit and wait for a different opportunity.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked. She made her voice hard, angry. In truth, she only wanted to know as much about her destination as she could at this point, as escape was currently not an option. She had seen a great deal of the Continent, and if she had a destination in mind, maybe she would know a thing or two that could be of use to her.

They were headed south. To Junon, maybe?

“Somewhere safe,” was all he provided. 

Junon was her best bet, she decided, if only because it was a port city where they could board a ship to somewhere else. Maybe even to Wutai.

“You know, Father used to tell me that too.” She didn’t know or care about the wisdom of making him so angry. Helpless as she was to do anything else, it was all she could do to exact retribution.

“I won’t beat you,” he said, and it sounded like the words were being forced through grit teeth. “I won’t make you cry. I’m _protecting_ you.”

“Well you’ve already got me tied up! If I’m making you so angry, why don’t you show me who’s in charge, _Vance_? Maybe I’ll even choke up some tears for you!”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” he said, slamming the rim of the steering wheel with a balled fist. “What is wrong with you? You’ve never called me that…not even once!”

“Well you promised over and over never to hurt me and look where I am now!”

“You’re not hurt, Hana.”

“I’m your _prisoner_! I’m tied up and completely at your mercy! How is that _any_ different than what Father did?”

Vance had no more words, but his face was red from more than just the dashboard lights, and a corner of his mouth was twitching.

“You call Sephiroth a monster,” Hana said, “but he never laid so much as a hand on me. Not once.”

“He never laid a hand on you?” Vance asked. “That is half of what I’m afraid of, sister.”

“Well I’ve told you a million times that he never, ever—“

“Did he ever lay a hand on you in _kindness_?”

Hana choked on her own rebuttal. The question cut her to the core.

“Does he know that a good, hard scalp scratch will completely calm you, or that when you get worked up all you need is a firm, hard squeeze? Does he know that you start to get antsy if you haven’t had a good backrub in a while? Has he ever even taken your hand, Hana?”

_Yes!_ A part of her wanted to shout. But deeper inside, behind her instincts to defy her brother, she knew the truth.

Only for show.

Only to put on their act for the press.

The truth spoke for itself, and they both heard it.

“I know you married him so you could survive, Hana,” he said. “But don’t you want to do more than that? Why not really _live_?

“He may give you care, Hana, but he can never care _for_ you. You’d give up all your dreams of happily ever after for someone like that?”

“Fairytales are for children,” she said. She didn’t even know how white her knuckles were in the darkness. “Children who have no idea how the real world works.”

“Hana,” her brother sighed.

“I hate you.” It was the last thing she said as she slunk down into the seat.

_I already made this choice,_ she thought as she closed her eyes and sank into herself. _It’s not fair that I have to make it again._

* * *

 

“There’s a prisoner that wants to see the General immediately.”

“A prisoner?” Angeal asked, stifling a yawn. At some point Genesis and Sephiroth had conked out right where they sat out on the couch, Genesis with his goodies still in hand, both of them uncomfortably slouched over the couch’s arms. Angeal had been zoning out himself when the knock on the door had come. The other two men had only groaned in response, Genesis lazing flicking his hand toward the door in a command for Angeal to take care of it.

“Do you know a Matsuko Takahashi? An older Wutaian woman, runs a pub in town.”

Sephiroth perked up only enough to crack open an eye. “Wutaian…?”

“Yes, sir,” the cadet said, talking past Angeal. “She said she saw your wife and has an urgent message for you.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Sephiroth shut his eye again and went back to sleep.

“Sir, she insists that it is vital, and she’s waiting for you in the holding cells.”

“You put an old lady in prison for wanting to talk to him?” Angeal asked, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the young cadet.

The man gulped. “She said she’d do whatever it took to reach him.”

“And you took that as a threat?”

“I’m just following orders, sir. If she’s bound she’s no threat to the General.”

Genesis snorted loudly. “Hear that, Sephiroth?” he said with a sleepy slur. “The old lady’s all tied up so she can’t rough you up any. Good to know that ShinRa’s got your back.” Sephiroth gave a brief grunt in response.

“Please, sir,” the cadet said, and Angeal could see beads of sweat roll down his face. “The incident has caught the attention of the President, and he is anxious to see what this is about.”

“Do you think she’ll talk to me?” Angeal asked. “Sephiroth is…indisposed.” The choice of words caused Genesis to snort again.

“You can try, sir,” the cadet said, nodding too quickly and too many times. The boy was all too excited to get out of Sephiroth’s presence, and you couldn’t blame him. Few assignments were worse than to wake the legendary SOLDIER, already greatly feared in the daytime, from his slumber. “I’m sure the President won’t mind as long as the matter is resolved.”

“Well then, my friend, you owe me. Big time,” Angeal turned to Sephiroth, who stayed as still and silent as if he really was sleeping, but he knew his friend was too light a sleeper to not have heard.

“Let’s go,” Angeal said to the cadet. “Let’s not keep her waiting any longer.”

* * *

 

It was Junon. As dawn was breaking she saw the iconic Sister Ray extending over the ocean. She had not slept; she was not tired.

With only the hum of the old car to accompany her thoughts, she had formulated something of a strategy – though hardly a plan by any stretch of the imagination. Her brother was confident in his strength. Too confident. And in that confidence came blindness. She’d also bet he was willing to trust her again if she gave him reason to.

She knew she was playing him, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“See?” her brother said. “You’re doing better already, sis.”

“Yes,” Hana said. _Let him think he’s won. If he drops his guard, something will happen that I can take advantage of!_ “…Niichan,” she added, not without effort, for extra effect.

“That’s more like it,” her brother sighed. “I knew you’d see reason once we got out of that filthy city.”

Hana didn’t trust herself to reply to that so she didn’t.

“I’ll get us a ship in no time, and we can forget this ever happened.”

“Hai, Niichan.”

"Hey,” he said. “Sorry about the way I treated you. But you can see why I did it now, can’t you? It was the only way. No hard feelings, okay?”

With that, he tossed a small pocket knife into her lap. With a little awkward maneuvering of her fingers, she was able to open it. She clenched the blade tip-up between her knees and sawed the ropes off her hands, sighing in relief when she was free. Once her hands were liberated, her feet quickly followed. She sat herself properly in the seat, straightened her yukata, and rubbed her sore wrists to ease the sting.

She hadn’t expected it to be _that_ easy.

Though if it came down to it, she still couldn’t outrun him, and she knew better than to expect a second shot if she didn’t do it right the first time.

_Please let something happen in Junon…something that will help me get away…._

“What do you want to eat when we get to town?” her brother asked. “You must be hungry.”

“Something they don’t have in Junon,” she said.

“Ah,” her brother said, smiling. “No worries. One last meal on the Continent and we’ll be back home. I know you want nikuman. I promise that’s the first thing we’ll eat once we land.”

_So he is taking me to Wutai._ Ultimately it didn’t make much difference, but it did feel good to know.

“I want…bean soup.”

“Bean soup?” Her brother shrugged. “Okay. That’s breakfast, then.”

_Bean soup…really?_ She didn’t even particularly like the taste and it brought back bad memories to boot. Still, it was strange enough of a food that the search for it might give her more time in Junon.

Her answer came then, as a small, black dot rose straight up into the sky.

“What’s that?” she asked. She knew what it was; she just wanted her brother to say it to make sure it was actually real.

“Feh. ShinRa helicopters. There’s a big airbase there, I swear there’s always something coming or going. Really suspicious if you ask me.”

_The airbase!_

Big, noisy, easy to get lost in. Always something coming or going. Run by ShinRa, who would know who she was and maybe even have infantrymen stationed there who could back up her escape with firepower.

She couldn’t have asked for anything better.

It was very hard to keep the smile off her face for the rest of the ride. All she had to do was make it to the airbase while her brother was searching the city for her bean soup.

* * *

 

“The helicopter leaves _now_ ,” Angeal said, taking Sephiroth’s shoulders and dragging him off the couch. “Up,” he commanded. “You too, Genesis. Don’t make me drag both of you.”

“What time is it?” Genesis groaned. “The sun’s not even up.”

“Hana didn’t leave. Her brother took her.”

Sephiroth blinked several times, face emotionless. Angeal couldn’t tell if that was his disbelieving face or if he was still struggling to wake up.

“Ma saw everything. Her brother betrayed her – drugged her and then kidnapped her. She got his license plate info and border patrol says they headed south.”

“Junon,” Sephiroth said. “Probably to catch a ship to Wutai.”

“Which is why we are leaving _now_. The ShinRa branch has been warned and they are sending word to the ports, but we are to sort this out in person.”

“ _We_?” Genesis asked, looking sideways at Sephiroth, who was standing now, at least.

“Yes, _we_. Non-negotiable.”

“Unnecessary,” Sephiroth said.

“President’s orders,” Angeal said. “Take it up with him.”

“You’re lying. He wouldn’t send three Firsts for such a simple mission, especially so soon after the security breach.”

“You can talk to him about it.”

“I think you are bluffing, Angeal,” Genesis said. He shrugged. “Whatever. _The wandering soul knows no rest_ ,” Genesis said with a flourish, theatrically staggering to his feet. “But leave it to Sephiroth to botch things…again. We may yet be of use in bringing her back.”

“We still don’t know that she doesn’t want to leave,” Sephiroth said, with no hint of how he felt about it in his voice.

“I know,” Angeal said. “Our job is just to make sure she makes the choice of her own will.”

“We really can’t leave this to the infantrymen in Junon?” Genesis asked. “It’s not even dawn yet.”

“It’s just as well,” Sephiroth said, gripping his Masamune tightly and giving it a graceful but savage swing. “Either way, I have some words for that miscreant brother of hers.”

“Hn,” Genesis said with a dark smirk. “Then perhaps this will be an amusing task after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Hai, niichan - Yes, brother (~chan is the suffix implying informality or closeness)
> 
> 2) Nikuman - a steamed bread bun stuffed with meat and vegetables.


	18. Break for it

_That’s the airbase!_

She forced her eyes downward, forced her feet onward. She had to be good. She couldn’t afford to be caught as much as looking back in ShinRa’s direction. But she knew the bright red logo and calligraphy that set apart the building from the identical complexes stretching down as far as the eye could see. It was all she needed.

But her brother kept going. And every step they took was a second more that it would take her to return. The less they strayed from that point, the better, but they had only just entered the city, and the docks were much further in.

_It’s **right there**!_ Every nerve in her body was screaming with the tension. Each step away from there was agony, and it took all her reserve to keep from bolting then and there.

_What if they’re not open? What if no one’s there? What if no helicopters are ready to go?_ Reason was a poor weapon against her raging instincts, but the energy it took to maintain the excuses diverted the energy away from her limbs, at least, or she surely would have been off already.

**_Stop!_** She wanted to scream.

It was too much. If she took another step, she swore she would lose her mind.

“Nii-chan,” Hana said too strongly as something in her snapped, jerking to a stop. Her brother looked at her in confusion. It was only after a moment and thanks to sheer dumb luck that an excuse came to her in time. “I’m really getting hungry.”

“For bean soup?” he asked. He was in bright spirits, smiling brilliantly down at her. As far as he knew, he’d just successfully rescued his sister.

“Anything, please.” She put a hand over her stomach for effect.

“Hmm…let’s see what’s nearby….”

The movement had exposed the long sleeve of her yukata from under her cloak. She stared at it, colors bright against the billowing blackness. It was bound to draw attention, and she knew all too well that she had been instantly famous since her marriage to the Silver General. Just yesterday her face had been all over every television channel – maybe it still was.

She was still trying to decide if some attention would help or hurt her case. The wrong kind of commotion or a poorly timed encounter would raise her brother’s guard, and she needed him as blissfully oblivious as possible.

Not that there were many people on the streets this early in the morning either.

“Hey, sis, what’s wrong?”

She looked up at her brother, who was looking at her in concern.

“N-Nothing.” She bit back a curse. _Not now! Focus!_ “It’s cold,” she said. “My feet….”

“Hana, why in the name of the Goddess are you wearing sandals in the _winter_?”

“All I had,” she said.

“We’re going inside. Now.”

_Yes!_ That had worked much better than she had anticipated. She was one straight shot away from the airbase, though it was too long for a dead sprint. She’d need some time still.

The first building they encountered was a small business suite. A receptionist read a magazine at a desk, overseeing an empty waiting room with plush velvet chairs and chipped gold décor. As they entered, a small bell jingled, and Hana’s feet started to burn. She hadn’t realized how cold they had been until the heat hit them. The electric sparks shooting through her feet as they warmed made her wince and uncomfortably shuffle from foot to foot.

“Martin and Selsby Law Offices, how may I help you?” the receptionist asked, deadpan, not looking up from her reading. She smacked her gum as she spoke, blowing a pink bubble until it popped.

Hana gripped her brother’s arm as she saw her own face on the cover of the magazine the receptionist was reading. He immediately left to stand before the receptionist, at least partially hiding Hana by placing himself in her line of sight.

“So I’m new to town, and I was just wondering if there are any places nearby where I can get a good breakfast. We’re headed to the docks so something in that direction---“

_Is this my chance?_ As soon as she turned back to run, the sight of the tiny golden bell over the door stopped any attempt. He would hear her the second she opened the door. Hana grit her teeth, tucked the sleeve of her yukata back into her cloak, and resisted the urge to scream.

_I’m only going to get farther away from here! And nothing is on the streets will provide_ any _distraction or cover!_

Things looked bleaker by the moment. She was so close and yet it was out of her reach.

_The bathroom!_

The door was just to the right of the receptionist’s desk. Likely only a single stall in such a cozy office, and maybe there would be something…?

She didn’t ask questions, just made a dash for it. Her brother would probably just assume the obvious.

“Hey, who’s that?” Hana heard through the door as she locked it. She winced. Had she been recognized?

But it didn’t matter anymore. The bathroom was home-style, decorated with vases of flowers on the vanity and plush coverings on the floor and toilet seat. And, framed by curtains of gold, her salvation shone before her very eyes.

_A window!_

It was frosted to allow privacy, but it let in enough sunlight to light the whole area. Just large enough for her to fit through, with a little tricky maneuvering. She couldn’t believe it – it was too perfect! She stared at it dumbfounded for several seconds until she realized that she was wasting time.

The window was locked with a small latch, which she flipped open easily, but when she tried to push the pane up it didn’t budge. Hana tried again, grunting with the effort, and was rewarded only by the tiniest slip upwards, just enough to slide a finger though.

That was when the alarm shrieked.

**_NO!_ **

She wasn’t thinking about how to cover up her escape, but instincts took care of that. In what she though was blind, desperate rage, she threw the hand soap container at the window, shattering the glass. Outside, looking at her in confusion, a sketchy looking man in too nice of a suit was in the alley rummaging through the law office’s garbage can. Upon seeing her and hearing the alarm, he took off, sheets of paper flying abandoned behind him.

This was the second time that her blind reactions had saved her skin. Maybe Sephiroth was right about her having something of use in a pinch.

Vance kicked in the door immediately and grabbed Hana, spinning her behind him as he brandished a small handgun. “Sis!” he cried. “What happened?”

“There was man in the alley and---!”

“Sicko,” her brother hissed, looking out the shattered window. The alarm finally shut off, and Hana could hear how heavily she was breathing and feel her body quiver with the rush of adrenaline. But she wasn’t afraid. Not this time.

It felt almost…thrilling.

“He got away,” her brother said. “I’ll report him for that! Did you see him at all?”

“No…” she lied. “Just a shadow, it all happened so fast!” It was easy to believe, and he fell for the act, hook, line, and sinker. He was so blinded by his anger that he didn’t even notice that the glass shards were outside, not in, and the soap dispenser was still lying in the middle of the alley.

“ShinRa troops are coming,” the receptionist said, still sounding bored despite that being the most action she was likely to see in a long time. “The security system summons them automatically.”

“We have to get out, then.” Her brother took her by the hand but Hana pulled back.

“Can we rest somewhere nearby? I’m…shaken.” She wasn’t, but she was going to milk this little fiasco for all it was worth. It would buy her some more time, at least.

“As soon as we can, I promise. But let’s put some distance between us and those ShinRa goons.”

“Okay,” Hana said, and let him take her away. She scuffed her feet and wavered a little for effect.

“Hey, are you---?” Vance slammed the office door shut behind them before the receptionist could ask.

_This will be interesting_ , Hana thought. The receptionist had most likely recognized her, and ShinRa troops were coming straight to her to investigate. If word made it back, maybe they would come for her. It would certainly make her job easier, but she knew better than to push her luck. It was strained enough as it was.

“There!” Hana said, pointing across the street at a small diner before they had made it even a block away. “I can rest and eat.”

Vance bit his lower lip in thought. It wasn’t as far away as he liked, she knew, but by the looks of things there was a good sized group of people in for breakfast. Hana swayed and held his arm. The act convinced him.

“The receptionist did say this was the best place this side of Junon,” he said with a shrug. “Apparently they have thirty varieties of pancakes to choose from.”

“Mmmm,” Hana sighed in delight. That reaction she didn’t have to fake. Her stomach growled its appreciation for the decision as well.

She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and tucked her yukata under its black cover. In all likelihood, it would make her look even more suspicious than usual, but the action appeased her brother.

Vance arranged for a private booth in the corner, partially enclosed, as well as close to the bathroom. “If the troops come, you make for the restroom, okay?” Hana nodded but was far more interested in the menu than anything he had to say.

The place was cozy, and she felt securely hidden among the buzz of morning chatter. But the longer she was there, the more the conversations turned to whispers, and many people were looking her way.

So much for remaining hidden. Whether or not they knew who she was, she had attracted attention. For a while, she thought she might still make it out, but as the whispers and stares grew in intensity, she lost that hope.

She sighed and sat back. She’d done all she could. Now she just had to wait for the action to unfold.

She just hoped it would all happen _after_ she got her pancakes.

* * *

 

The troops came just as the waitress hesitantly refilled their water glasses the second time, not-so-subtly trying to get a good look at Hana under her hood. Vance shooed her away, but could do nothing about the troops.

“ _Hide in the bathroom_ ,” he mouthed silently. His back was to the troops, so he turned his head and sipped his water, casually as he could muster.

Hana didn’t even have to get up. She could see the red sign on the door from her seat. It read “Occupied”. Vance’s face turned livid as she pointed to it, but there was nothing he could do.

The troops didn’t appear to be particularly alarmed, but they did stop at several tables to ask questions. The lump in Hana’s throat became bigger and bigger as they made their way slowly back to where they sat. She didn’t have to wait too long. One of the customers pointed her way and the two men came straight to them.

“Morning, gentlemen,” Vance greeted. “Can I help you?”

“There was a break-in at a law office not even a block away from here. Have you heard anything?”

“Not a clue,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve been waiting on our pancakes for a good half-hour, haven’t seen a thing.”

One of the troops looked at her, but she could read nothing from his expression and his eyes were hidden by the helmet. “Forgive the intrusion, but you are dressed suspiciously. I must insist that you remove the hood.”

“Oh, no, sirs, it’s really nothing out of the ordinary. My sister was assaulted in the alley about a week ago, and she’s still very ashamed of the wounds on her face.

“Hm,” the taller trooper said, looking at his companion. “Can you verify his story, miss?”

Hana’s breath stopped. She could call him out now. Surely her brother wasn’t strong enough to take two armed men…right?

_Except they weren’t really armed._ She was appalled to find that neither guard carried a gun, only short stun-batons. And she knew her brother had _at least_ one gun, and who knows what other weapons were tucked away on his person.

_Incompetent fools!_

“Miss? Are you all right?”

The opportunity was staring her in the face. She knew better than to expect another chance as good as this one. Drawing up all her courage as she filled her lungs with air, she leapt up to stand on the table and flung her cape away – showing not only her face but her unmistakably Wutaian clothing.

“I am Hana Kazehawa!” she screamed in both thrill and panic. “I am Sephiroth’s wife! This man is abducting me!”

The diner exploded with noise, but she didn’t stop to see any of it. She kicked her sandals away as she leapt from the table; they would only slow her down. With a surge of speed and energy she never knew she possessed, she took off through the front door at a dead sprint, bare feet flying so fast across the pavement that they barely registered the cold.

_Please!_ she cried in her heart, calling upon every Wutaian deity she had ever been taught of as she breathlessly fled toward the airbase. _Please let it be enough!_


	19. To Make an Insurgent

The three SOLDIERs were significantly unimpressed with the overall functioning of the Junon ShinRa branch. Granted, there was some kind of disturbance going on, but from what they could gather, it wasn’t that big of a disturbance and it wasn’t even being handled efficiently to boot.

This put all three of them, but most notably Sephiroth, in a frightfully bad mood. If there was anything that could put the Silver General in a foul state one-hundred percent of the time, it was fools pretending everything was under control when it was clear as day that it was not. In his book, if you were inadequate, you got out and let someone who knew what they were doing take over. Normally _he_ could be that somebody, but not here. His knowledge of the Junon branch’s operations was only slightly below that of the employees’.

“So, what now?” Genesis asked after being seated for thirty minutes on a couch staring at cadets shuffling frantically about.

“There’s nothing much to do,” Angeal sighed. “They’ve shut down all the docks, so at least we know that Hana is still in the city.”

“We’re trusting these peons to tackle a job that big?” Genesis said, gesturing to one of the lankier boys, who both saw and heard the gesture but, wisely, did not retaliate. “We just hope that their operations down at the docks are better than they are here?”

Angeal sighed. Sephiroth fumed in silence that was quickly heating up.

“I, for one, vote we roam the city,” Genesis said, rising to his feet.

“We have no leads,” Angeal said. “It’d be a blind chase.”

“No, but being _outside_ instead of here, where we are fairly certain that Hana is _not_ , is a slight improvement from doing absolutely nothing, which is what we are currently doing.”

“I second the notion,” Sephiroth said. And like that he excused himself from the building in a billowing of silver hair. The ambience cooled significantly after his departure.

Angeal sent Genesis a look but followed his two friends outside all the same.

They didn’t have to go far to see the disturbance, and they heard it even sooner. Rather conveniently, it seemed to be coming to them.

“See?” Genesis said. “This is much more fun already.” Sephiroth hummed in agreement.

“Hey wait,” Angeal said, squinting his eyes. “Isn’t that…?”

The three men stared, blinking at the figure, bright against the dark throng in the distance.

“It is,” Sephiroth said and Masamune was in his hand in a whisper of steel.

“You two should learn to listen to me more often,” Genesis said, his own crimson rapier at the ready.

“Save it, Genesis,” Angeal said as the three of them charged forward. “We have work to do.”

* * *

 

Instincts kept Hana in the middle of the road. She might have lost her pursuers in the alleys, but also would have likely gotten lost herself as well. It was a straight shot, now or never.  Her whole body protested the strain. Her side cramped, her lungs burned, her vision was hazed, but she pushed on anyway at speeds she swore she had never attempted before.

_Go! Run! Get away!_

As much as every fiber in her screamed for her to stop, these words screamed louder, encompassing everything she was.

She heard her brother roar behind her, but she could go no faster.

**_Fly!_ ** The voice, strong and clear in her frenzied mind, was Sephiroth's.

And then she saw him, flying toward her faster than she was to him.

The vision stopped her heart. She had seen depictions of his ferocity in Wutai since the war had begun, and then she had seen him in person for what seemed like much longer than the mere days they had been married. Neither could come close to the way he really appeared in the heat of conflict.

_The silver dragon_ , they called him in Wutai, but she doubted that such power could be exuded by even such a legendary beast. His hair and blade gleamed white-silver in the sun, a terrible, blinding hue only made more formidable by the speed with which the weapon and the master hand behind it flew. Even from the distance, she could see the fire of mako seething in his emerald eyes, the only place in his body in which the heat of battle burned, bright against his cool composure and single-minded concentration. His feet flew in graceful, dancelike steps, barely touching the earth.

It was the first time she had seen her husband as the god of the battlefield. It was a sight as beautiful and breathtaking as it was petrifying. It was a sight that pushed the crowd back with sheer, palpable force.

At the same time, it drew her forward.

When their bodies collided, she knew she was as safe and untouchable as if she had been enfolded in steel. With one arm he swept her off her feet, lessening the impact as he continued to fly forward into the fray. The momentum from his speed pressed her into his chest, where she heard his heart beat strong and loud for all that his breathing was steady and slow. All her tension left her in a choking exhale as something feral drew her closer into him. She closed her eyes, her body descending from its adrenaline high by that rhythm pulsing deep within her husband’s chest.

She had done it, she thought as the world faded away. It was over.

His maneuvering was so graceful and her exhaustion was so deep that she barely felt as Sephiroth engaged her brother in battle, nestled though she was in the crook of his right arm. Her weight neither hampered his movements nor slowed them. The deadly dance resumed as seamlessly as if she had not been there at all.

Sephiroth feinted to the right, then leaped impossibly high as a volley of her brother's bullets whizzed harmlessly by. With one great lunge and a savage swipe, Masamune cleaved its opposing weapon in two and sent the useless halves of the handgun flying. Sephiroth finished the job with a thrust of his forearm, the force of the blow sending Vance flying, landing winded on his back ten feet away.

In just more than a single breath’s time, Sephiroth had arisen as the victor. Time, slowly, began to resume.

The crowd was now being contained by ShinRa troops, who had collected themselves enough to form a front. Gradually, the noise died as the citizens of Junon were evacuated off the street.

It really was over.

“Hana,” Sephiroth breathed into her ear, his voice as smooth and silver as the tendrils of silken hair stroking her temples. “Hana, are you hurt?”

Her body was calm, but her mind was hazy, and her heart was beating fast. Very fast.

“Uh…n-no….”

Unconvinced, Sephiroth seized her chin in his palm and turned her eyes to meet his, ignoring her squeaked protest. He studied her face briefly, looking for signs of pain but finding nothing but overly-widened eyes, and then scanned the rest of her body curled in the crook of his arm. He hummed an approval when he concluded that she had not been harmed. His gaze returned to meet hers for a moment, and he looked confused. “Are you…?” and he drew closer, studying her face. She could feel his breath, warm and gentle against her cheeks.

Her blood was roaring in her ears.

He was so…so _close!!_

Understanding lightened his gaze, and his lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Ah… _quite_ unharmed, I should think.”

“Put me down!” she screeched, voice far too high and breathy. He would have done so, but she wanted out faster than he would have set her down. She pushed him away with both palms, tumbling out of his grasp and only barely landing on her feet. She staggered as much to get away from him as to regain her balance, slapping away the hand he extended to steady her.

His presence was electric. Her body was awash with sparks, and her thoughts were a musical mess in some kind of misty, blinding haze. She put her hands to her cheeks to find them aflame with heat, and if she wasn’t mistaken, those soft sounds that she heard were Sephiroth’s low, dark chuckles.

Her horror at the sensations conveniently kept her from realizing that the feelings weren’t all together unpleasant.

“Y-you’re cruel…!”

“Perhaps,” he said, that infuriating smirk still on his face, one delicate silver eyebrow arched in amusement.

Hana let out a sound meant to sound angry, but it came out as a squawk, and so she covered her mouth with her hands and turned away, bowing her head in embarrassment.

“Now _that’s_ some romancing, Seph!” Genesis called. “A little more of that and there wouldn’t _be_ any more problems!”

Hana felt fire engulf more than her cheeks – it was all over her face and running down her neck now. “They…saw that?” The humiliating cat calls that Genesis let out against Angeal’s half-hearted attempts to stop them answered her question well enough.

“Apparently,” Sephiroth said, needlessly.

“I hate you.”

“You’ll get over it.”

But Genesis and Angeal weren’t the only ones who saw the scene. Hana’s brother was staggering to his feet, spitting out half a tooth and no small mouthful of blood. He did nothing about the blood running freely from his broken nose, only stared at Sephiroth in vehement hatred.

“Take Hana back to the helicopter,” Sephiroth commanded Angeal and Genesis, the General in him coming out again. “I have work to finish.”

“Sephiroth, he’s my brother! You can’t—“

“I am aware,” he said, not looking at her and righting his sword in his hand, which did nothing to settle her uneasiness. “But the two of us have words to exchange. In private.”

Vance bared his teeth in response, looking like a bull about to charge.

Hana felt a pair of strong hands slide onto her shoulders, gently guiding her away from her husband. “Come with us,” Angeal said. “You’ve had quite a night.”

“Seph won’t skewer the man,” Genesis added. “Such filth isn’t even worth that kind of effort.”

“Okay,” Hana said softly and let Angeal lead her away. But she had only gone two or three steps when she turned back. “Vance,” she said.

She met her brother’s eyes. She knew that, proud as he was, he would never show how much her betrayal had hurt him. As he looked at her, he scoffed and spit another round of blood to the side in a display of defiance. _As if I care_ , his angry eyes said. But she knew her brother enough to know that at the root of his anger was agony. She knew she had wounded him very, very deeply.

“I’m sorry,” she said over her shoulder. “But I… _I_ chose this. And I think it would best if we…didn’t see each other again. At least until you can accept my choice.”

“You choose _him_?” he roared, pointing at Sephiroth in accusation. “You know as well as I do that he will _destroy_ you!”

“Vance,” she said. Then, softer, “Niichan…goodbye.”

Angeal and Genesis gently guided her away, one on each side of her. She let Angeal put his arm encouragingly on her shoulder.

But no tears came. She had chosen this path once, and she had chosen it again. There was nothing to be gained from looking back or weeping for what she had lost.

* * *

 

“ _You_ ,” Vance seethed. “You _monster_!”

And he charged with a roar. Sephiroth stayed where he was, effortlessly sweeping him to the side when he came within range, throwing his body to hit the pavement again. This time, Vance could not hold back a cry of pain.

Three ShinRa troops approached to take Vance into custody, but Sephiroth held them back with a wave of his hand.

“Do not try that again,” Sephiroth said, calm as the dawn. “I didn’t come to fight you.”

“I’ll _die_ before I let you have my sister!” And he charged blindly forward again.

Sephiroth merely sidestepped, letting the pain of wounds and blood loss drive his opponent to the pavement again. He knew that if he struck him again, more permanent damage would be done, and, though a tempting thought, Hana would be upset if he crippled the man.

“You try my patience,” Sephiroth said. “I had assumed that Hana’s own flesh and blood would respect her choice. I expected an ally, especially from the way she spoke of you. You have chosen otherwise.”

“As if I’d ever ally with _you_!” Crouched as he was in pain on the ground, blood dripping from his wounds, his words had little strength.

“Hmph.” Sephiroth let Vance struggle to his feet.

Vance smirked, though only through a grimace of pain. “Heh, ready for another go?”

“I told Hana I would not kill you,” Sephiroth said. “Do not tempt me.”

“You,” Vance choked through a gasp, “or I.” He swallowed hard, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood running down his face in streams. “Only one of us…will live. I swear it…on my mother’s grave. I will _kill_ you…or I will die trying.”

“Foolish boy,” Sephiroth said. “Step down. Live your pathetic life as you will, only leave us alone. You have made it clear that you are an enemy and I _will_ treat you as such. There will not be a second chance.”

Vance did not back down, even under the full power of Sephiroth eyes of verdant fire. “You win today,” he hissed. “But _no one_ is invincible. I will have my revenge and rescue my sister.”

“You will die in vain.”

“Then so be it.”

Sephiroth raised the tip of Masamune to the base of Vance’s throat. “If you will not listen to Hana, then listen to _me_.” His voice was winter ice, quiet as the wind but sharper than the blade poised to take his opponent’s life. “The next time I see you, _I will kill you_. Do not expect Hana’s generosity to save your worthless life twice. I do not share her mercy.

“Get him out of my sight,” Sephiroth said to the three troops. “Lock him up where he won’t cause any more trouble.”

Vance went with little struggle; he was in no state to fight anymore. But beneath dark bangs, his eyes burned fire.

“You or me,” he hissed as the troops forced him into handcuffs. “Neither of us can live while the other has Hana in his grasp.”

Sephiroth did not bother to respond.

Nothing could sway her brother away now, not even the supposed love he had for his sister.

_This marriage will make you enemies on every side,_ Ryouan had told him as the wedding ceremony had commenced.

Hardly happy words to begin a marriage, but the priest had spoken the truth.

* * *

 

Angeal and Genesis turned their backs to Hana as they approached the helicopter. It was strange considering how close they had stayed by her on their voyage there. For a while, she had even ridden on Angeal’s back to keep her feet off the frozen street. Even after they had given her a pair of army boots from the Junon branch’s spare uniforms, they had remained right at her side as she had recounted everything that had happened to a Turk stationed there. Once the appropriate reports were finished and all the questions answered, they were sent to the helipad to return to Midgar.

“What…?” Hana asked, confused by their behavior. She had to repeat herself, shouting over the sound of the chopper. “What are you two doing?”

“We’re not looking,” Genesis said back, loudly, so as to be heard over the powerful vehicle. “We won’t see which way you went.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Now is the time for you to make your choice,” Angeal said. “We won’t stop you. We only wish you the best, wherever you go.”

It took her a moment to realize what they were talking about. She was surprised that Sephiroth had even told them. She smiled. It was a good sign that he was talking with his friends.

They stood there sheepishly, backs to her, hair wildly flailing in the wind generated by the rotating blades above. True to Genesis’s word, they did not look back at her in the slightest. Genesis scuffed his feet slightly and Angeal rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.

Hana smiled, grabbing one hand from each man and pulling both of them back to the helicopter with her. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she shouted. “Are we going or not?”

Sephiroth walked onto the helipad then, and the blades spun faster in preparation for the flight. Genesis climbed in past Hana, who remained in the doorway, but Angeal stayed with feet solidly on the ground to watch Sephiroth’s expression as he saw his wife in the helicopter.

Something passed between the couple, silent but meaningful. When he did not approach of his own accord, she motioned for him to come. “Take me home!” she shouted.

Angeal once again did not know the emotion washing over his friend’s face – relief, perhaps, or maybe even peace.

Whatever it was, he hoped to see it more in the future.

* * *

 

Vance had to be kept in seclusion in Junon’s prison. This was only partially because his wounds needed to be treated. He had been promptly strapped to a table to still any resistance, and had received one transfusion already. But once he had been bandaged, they wheeled him to white tile room and left him there, sealed inside alone long after even he had received all the blood they had given him. No one so much as bothered to retrieve the medical equipment.

He had screamed once in rage, and fought against his bonds, but his cry only echoed against the stone, and the straps were unrelenting.

Resistance was useless for now, he conceded. He was careful not to extinguish his anger, but to channel it, store it, until it could serve him at a later time.

It was timeless in the too-brightly lit room, but he judged that he’d been isolated for at least several hours when a visitor arrived.

“Vance Reuben,” the man said, pushing round glasses up his nose. “Getting yourself in such trouble with General Sephiroth himself. That takes guts.”

“I’ll _kill_ that man!” Vance roared, unable to restrain himself at the mention of his nemesis’s name. “I’ll strangle him with my own bare hands!”

“A lofty goal, that,” the man said, a frustratingly cool and collected smirk on his face. “You might as well be trying to fell a god.”

“ _No one_ is invincible,” Vance hissed. “There _has_ to be a way.”

“Hmm.”

And then he was released from his bands. Just like that, they snapped off his wrists, torso, and ankles. Confused, Vance raised himself to a sitting position, regarding his rescuer warily. Was it a trap?

“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with the Silver General,” the man said, eyes invisible through the glint over his glasses. “He took your sister, as his bride, even. I can scarcely imagine the horror.”

Vance rubbed at his wrists to ease the soreness, but didn’t take his eyes off this man.

“It must have been excruciating for him to whisk her away again.”

“What do you want?” Vance asked, irritated by the games.

“I want to help you,” the man said. “I, too, am seeking revenge for innumerable crimes committed against my people and the planet.”

“Against ShinRa?” Vance asked, taken aback by the brashness of the statement.

The man nodded, still smiling. “Do you think me a fool? You yourself said that no one is invincible. And let me tell you, friend, there _is_ a way. I’ll even show it to you.”

“The two of us,” Vance said. “…Against ShinRa.”

“No, not two.  Join me, and I promise that I will leave Sephiroth alive for you to do with as you please.”

“Not two?”

The man nodded. “Tell me, friend, have you heard the whispers about AVALANCHE?”


	20. The Guard

Testing results had been distributed at lunch. The topic consumed all conversation. There were triumphant whoops and hollers at promotions, and some poor fellows who stared at their harsh reprimands or demotions in mute, unfeeling shock.

Zack had ripped open his own envelope with his heart throbbing in his throat and unfolded his score sheet to find only, confusingly, mortifyingly…

Nothing.

A completely blank score sheet.

Except for four words, written in effortlessly elegant script, in a pen that was (only by some unfortunate coincidence, Kunsel assured him) disturbingly red.

_See me immediately. –Sephiroth_

And now he paced the hallway, unable to muster the courage to even knock on the General’s door. He wasn’t sure how he had made it this far, but that alone had exhausted his reserves. _Get it over with_ , he hissed between clenched teeth. _You’ll only make it worse if you make him wait._

And so, before anything could convince him otherwise, he flung his fist at the door in one graceless knock.

“Come in,” came the silky smooth voice from inside.

Zack couldn’t keep his lips from silently screaming profanities. He’d done it now.

“Come in, Zack,” the General said again, a note of impatience in his voice that made him want to cower instead of enter. So Sephiroth knew it was him. He couldn’t get away now if he wanted to.

He did his best to convince every god he knew of that he had been an incredibly religious and faithful man all his life and he was owed a miracle, or five. He hoped the million prayers in his head sounded at least pious enough to hide his sheer desperation.

Eyes clenched shut, steeling himself against a blow, Zack turned the knob and somehow got his body inside.

“You asked to see me, sir?” he said immediately. He realized that he was standing at ramrod attention. He didn’t remember snapping into it, but it seemed the most natural position to be in, given the circumstances, which, given how much he hated the stiff pose, said a great deal about the circumstances.

Sephiroth barely raised his gaze from a paper he was writing. “At ease, SOLDIER. Take a seat, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Zack was anything but at ease as he sat stiffly on the edge of the seat.

“And stop fidgeting.”

Zack hadn’t realized that his fingers and feet had been tapping furiously. The order turned all his muscles to stone.

True to his word, Sephiroth soon finished with a flourish of a signature and his official stamp. He set the document aside and turned his gaze to his captive.

Sephiroth opened his mouth to speak but Zack was faster, his words gushing out nearly incoherently, hands gesturing animatedly in ways that made little sense with what he was actually saying.

“Apparently there was some kind of misunderstanding I really wasn’t trying to take your wife I mean I was happy to see her and I guess the hug was a little touchy-feely and I was so happy oh but not like the romantic happy more like the little sister you thought was dead and you find out she’s alive happy but I just wasn’t even thinking and it was out of place and I’m sorry and I never meant to do anything inappropriate I’d never touch your wife I mean I’d never touch _any_ woman unless well she _wasn’t_ married and liked it and lots of other stuff you know honor and dreams and pride and discipline and…” he paused only long enough to suck in a breath, “honorable honor and stuff but I know she’s married to you and I never ever meant—“

Sephiroth held up a hand to stem the tide. Zack shut up immediately, panting in the silence that followed.

Maybe Zack was imagining things, but he thought he saw the smallest _smile_ on his commander’s lips.

“My guess is that Angeal gave you _quite_ the talking to.”

Zack nodded vigorously, pale and mute.

“He was the one to misunderstand. I never suspected your intentions and there is no punishment forthcoming. You may resume your breathing now.”

Zack coughed and sputtered, not realizing how he’d held his breath. That low hum, was Sephiroth _laughing_ at him?

“Erm…yes. Thank you, sir. And um…it won’t happen again.”

“I trust not. Now, with that aside, I brought you here to discuss the results of your evaluations.”

Zack straightened as a chill ran up and back down his spine. “I didn’t receive any results, sir.”

“I wished to discuss them with you in person, as your case is somewhat unique from that of your brothers-in-arms’.” He pulled out a paper that looked like Zack’s real score sheet before him, but spoke without consulting it once. “In short, your performance in the exams left much to be desired. Your rally was decisive but rash. You showed leadership skills in gathering the men but once you had them you displayed remarkable lack of judgment. Had your blind charge not have met the foe head-on as it did through some stroke of luck, your entire team would have been left in terrible positions. You rely too much on brute strength in combat, and not enough on your brain. This time, it was enough. But it will not always be. You are overconfident in your own skill, and more than once it cost you. The blows you took still did not seem to drive the lesson home.”

Zack took the criticisms silently. Everything the man said was painfully true. Angeal had repeatedly told him as much, but it stung much more coming from Sephiroth.

“However,” Sephiroth said, resting his chin on folded hands and regarding him with bright mako eyes. “Despite it all, Angeal has recommended you for First Class.”

Zack blinked. He blinked again. Had he heard that right? “Wait…say that again.”

“Angeal,” Sephiroth repeated slowly, “has recommended you for First Class.”

Zack sat utterly stupefied. When at last he did open his mouth, he had still been too shocked to keep the only words in his mind from spilling out of his mouth. “For real?”

“Yes, _for real_ ,” Sephiroth repeated with emphasis and no small amount of amusement.

“…Oh.” It was hardly an enlightened thing to say but so many circuits in his brain were firing that it was a miracle that even that much made it out. “Oh. Um…cool.” _Cool?_ The lights of heaven were shining and he was pretty sure angels were singing too. If shock hadn’t rendered him immobile, he might have sang and danced along with them.

“Do not think you have made it,” Sephiroth said, and the buzzing euphoria shut off just like that. “Genesis and I still remain highly unconvinced, and we are the ones who have the final say.” _He didn’t have to use the word_ highly _,_ Zack thought bitterly, dizzy from being slammed down like that after such a high. “But I also saw enough in the simulation to believe that Angeal’s claim merits at least an investigation.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your performance is under scrutiny. You will be tested to see if you really deserve this promotion.”

“I won’t let you down!” Zack said, clenching his fists in resolve. “I’ll show you all that I have what I takes! You guys haven’t seen _anything_ yet!”

“I certainly hope we haven’t,” Sephiroth said. “At least for your sake. Now, if you are ready to go, I will brief you on your assignment immediately.”

“I’m ready for it!” Zack said, the excitement of the situation getting to him. This was his dream! It was right within his grasp! “Let’s go!”

“Very well. Follow me.” He picked up a keyring on his desk, locked a file cabinet, and then briskly left the office.

Zack followed his commander to the elevator. Sephiroth swiped his ID badge and entered a code on a keypad and they began to ascend.

“The mission is highly unique,” Sephiroth said. “Though there may be opportunities for combat and you must prepare accordingly, you must focus more effort on strategy and conflict prevention. If a conflict arises that could have reasonably been prevented, I will penalize you. _Severely_.” Zack heard more than was actually said in the frigid warning: if it happened, he could kiss First-Class goodbye forever.

“There’s more to me than brawn, you know,” Zack insisted, somewhat wounded. “Sounds like a piece of cake.”

“Your overconfidence is alarming. This mission allows no room for error.”

The elevator doors opened and before Zack stretched hallways lined with apartment doors. “Um, sir?” he asked, following him, but uncertainly. “These are the bigwigs’ houses. Are we in the right place?”

“We are,” Sephiroth assured him, slipping a key into a locked door and twisting. “My private residence,” he said, swinging the door open and crossing his arms over his chest in a challenge to enter. “Your charge awaits inside.”

“Wait…my charge… _Hana_?!”

Hana peeked her head out the door. “Stop scaring him, Sephiroth,” she scolded lightly, before turning to Zack with a smile. “Come on in! I’ve got tea ready. All this bodyguard stuff can wait until after some pleasantries.”

“Wait…a _bodyguard?!_ ”

* * *

 

And that was how Zack Fair came to be seated in his General’s private home, sitting across from the legend himself, receiving masterfully served tea in a ceremony fit for an emperor.

“The Kachnar blossoms,” Zack said. “I can taste them.” He wished his nerves would settle so he could better appreciate both the flavor of the tea and how artfully Hana had served it. It was hard to say anything more under Sephiroth’s gaze.

“A taste of home for both of us,” Hana said with a smile, taking his cup and whisking it away to the kitchen. When all traces of the tea were gone, she turned to her husband. “Now do you two need to talk alone, or should I stay?”

“Stay,” Sephiroth said. “This was your idea.”

Zack gawked. “It was?”

“It was,” Hana affirmed, sitting next to her husband, but with marked space between them.

“I have been called away on assignment to Wutai with Genesis and Angeal,” Sephiroth said. “And so soon after two back-to-back attempts to kidnap Hana.”

Zack nodded grimly. So much had happened in only the past few days that they scarcely seemed to be days at all. It may as well have been a year since Hana had arrived at ShinRa.

“We have reason to believe that one of the threats has been neutralized,” Sephiroth continued. “However, the larger remains. A man stands at the head of the army that seeks her. You have experience with this man.”

Zack looked blank for a moment, but his eyes ignited when he understood. “Your father,” he spat hatefully.

Hana nodded. “My father.”

“He has an _army_?” Zack asked. “Who _is_ this guy…?”

“That is not important,” Sephiroth said. “But before we go on, Hana and I need to know the extent of your knowledge about him.”

Zack shook his head. “I try not to think about it too much. I was just a kid.” But Sephiroth and Hana waited in silence for an answer and so he sighed and continued.

“He was in the house when I came back,” he said. “Ma and Pa were offering him food to stall for time. I came in full of righteous fury. Somewhere on my journey home I put two and two together to realize that you were running away from him for a reason. I’d grabbed the heavy hoe from the garden and charged in and I…”

Zack trailed off and murmured the rest of his sentence. “What?” Hana asked, gently probing.

“Look, I was a kid. A really dumb, stupid kid.” Color had spread from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Which means…?” Sephiroth asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I…” Zack hung his head. “I challenged him to a duel. With…the hoe.”

“Good heavens, Zack,” Hana sighed, covering her face with her hands. “It’s a wonder he didn’t murder you on the spot!”

“I think I amused him too much for that. He sure got a good laugh out of it. He even let me swing a couple times and yell exactly what I thought right in his face.”

“Zack…” Hana moaned despairingly. “I told you he was extremely dangerous!”

“And you also told me I was your hero,” Zack said. He rubbed the back of his neck slowly, speaking quietly. “It was my dream, you know? It got to my head big time. I was so sure I could save you. I didn’t have a single doubt in all of my tiny brain. That night, I really was a hero. _Your_ hero.”

Hana’s eyes were too glassy, and Zack didn’t know what to say to stop it. Thankfully, Sephiroth intervened. “So you are acquainted with the man?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. But it’s been so long.”

“He hasn’t changed,” Hana said bitterly.

“Well at least I have an idea of what I’m up against,” Zack said. “Is that why you picked me for the job?”

“It’s one reason,” Sephiroth said. “The other is to contain the spread of certain information.”

“Do you remember what my father looked like, Zack?” Hana asked.

“I don’t think I could possibly forget. The nasty sneer, the weird outfit, that blasted _cane_ , and pale as death—“ Zack stopped abruptly. “Pale,” he repeated, blinking, studying Hana’s own features as he put the pieces together. “He’s from the _Continent_! You’re only _half_!”

Hana looked to Sephiroth to answer for her. “That is the information that cannot be leaked.”

“Why?” Zack asked. “I mean, sure it’s a little surprising and it almost never happens but what difference does it really make--?”

 “I will treat a leak of such classified information as treason, Zack, and I will see that you are expelled from SOLDIER and left for the Turks to do with as they see fit. Even Angeal cannot know.” At this, Hana noticeably frowned. “Am I clear?”

Zack gulped. “Completely clear, sir.”

“Thankfully,” Sephiroth continued on a milder note, “Hana looks much more like her mother, enough to pass as full-blood.”

But as Zack looked closer, knowing what he did, he could see marks of her Continental lineage in her face. She was just slightly paler, with eyes just wider and rounder. Her hair was thinner, and there was less of it, and her face was definitely shorter and slightly heart-shaped. Though her bangs had been trimmed and trained to mask it, he caught a glimpse of her hairline that was definitely peaked. Any one or two of these things might have been dismissed, but all together, her face could only be the result of mixed blood.

Hana let him study her with a blank face, then smiled forgivingly when he looked abruptly away, realizing he’d been staring much too hard for much too long.

“Okay,” Zack said. “So just guard Hana. Don’t let anyone find out she’s half. Is that it?”

“You will stay in this apartment, and if she wants to go out, you go with her.”

“Stay here?” The idea of staying in his General’s house, with his wife, while he was away, made him uncomfortable on several different levels. “Even overnight?”

“ _Especially_ overnight, as that is when she is most vulnerable.”

“Okay, it’s just a little weird, that’s all.”

“You are her guard,” Sephiroth said. “Here on professional business. And I expect your conduct to match your objective – most especially in terms of _focus_.”

“Yes, sir, but wouldn’t it be more…you know, _appropriate_ to get someone else?”

“The risks outweigh the gains. We don’t know what her father is capable of, and what eyes are not ShinRa’s. Hana trusts you, and that’s what we’re going on for now. In addition, manpower is in short supply because of the war, and no other departments can spare someone for this assignment.”

“Oh. Right.”  He didn’t miss how Sephiroth had said nothing about his own confidence in him. His ego had also been bruised knowing that he had been scraped from the bottom of Sephiroth’s barrel, so to speak. “Got it, then.”

Sephiroth nodded. “I’ll show you the apartment when you report here for duty at 6:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. I’ll make all the arrangements with security.”

With that, Sephiroth dismissed himself to his office, closing the door behind him.

“All about business,” Hana said, watching him go. “I hope you know that. He’s not trying to be rude.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I knew.”

“Takes some getting used to, regardless,” Hana said with a smile. “I would know.”

“You seem lots better,” Zack said. “Since…last time we met. Even though you’ve been kidnapped once between then and now.”

“It’s a good day,” she said. “My decorating materials will be delivered later, and I got the guard I specifically requested. Things are finally going my way.” Hana shook her head and rose from the couch. “Rest well tonight. Sephiroth’s going to drill you hard tomorrow morning, so be prepared.”

“All right.” He lowered his voice, looking to make sure Sephiroth’s study door was shut before speaking. “How likely is it that your father will come while he’s gone?”

Hana clenched her eyes closed. “Extremely likely.”

Zack frowned. “I’m going to keep you safe, I swear, Hana. This time I’ll _really_ tell him what I think, and make him listen too.” He stood up from the couch. “Hey,” he asked as an afterthought, rechecking the office door. “Do you mind if I ask you one last thing? It’s kind of bugging me.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you stand out in Wutai? I mean, being half and all.”

“Of course I do. Sephiroth is just fooling himself. I couldn’t pass for full-blood if I wanted to. Anyone can clearly see. Makeup helps, but being unnoticeable was the only real way to hide.” Hana shook her head. “Here on the Continent it’s easier. One look at my skin color and eye shape is all it takes to convince anyone.”

“So if you don’t fit in in either country, do you really have a home at all?”

Zack wanted to take it back, because he knew that wasn’t an easy question. But, gracefully, Hana smiled any tension away. “Home is simply wherever my father _isn’t_.”

Zack nodded and moved to leave, but she grabbed the door to hold it open when he tried to pull it shut. He looked back to find Hana conflicted about whether or not to speak, judging from the way she eyed Sephiroth’s office door.

She sighed, then spoke in hushed tones. “Sephiroth won’t approve of me telling you this. But I think you need to know.” Her voice lowered to barely more than a whisper. “It’s not my race that’s the problem – that’s not what I really need to hide. It’s the fact that my father is the only Continental man with so much influence in Wutai. It would be too easy to link me to him. Though he has so much power in Wutai, he has no particular loyalty to them. And there are people who would use me in order to gain my father’s favor and make him turn on Wutai.”

Zack’s eyes narrowed. “Is Sephiroth trying to hide you from someone else too?” Hana did not answer forthright. “Look, I need to know. I’m your protector. If there’s a threat to you I have to know about it.”

Hana bit the corner of her lip. “He’s hiding me from ShinRa.”

It hit Zack, and it hit him hard. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t put it together sooner. ShinRa _would_ do that. They would give her up to her father in a heartbeat and never have a shadow of regret. They would even leap at the opportunity to have such an ally in their hands.

Zack’s stomach sank. Maybe he wouldn’t just be protecting Hana from her father while Sephiroth was away. Maybe the real threat was much, much closer to home. Would the company move against Hana in her husband’s absence? Could he turn traitor to his own employer to protect her?

This assignment was already turning out to be way more than he had bargained for.

“Hey, sis,” Zack said, giving her a lighthearted punch to the forearm. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He grinned. “This time I actually have the brawn to be able to promise it.”

Hana smiled. He knew that she knew how much she was asking of him. “I know. That’s why I chose you. You’re my hero, after all, aren’t you?”

She winked at him and Zack waved goodbye. She shut the door, but Zack stayed outside her apartment thinking for quite some time.

Being a hero was a lot stickier of a business than he had anticipated.


	21. New Year's - A Beginning and an End

“You have a mission tomorrow,” Hana reminded Sephiroth. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m not letting you stay on the roof unsupervised,” he said, putting a key ring and his ShinRa ID badge in his pocket and then taking a seat on his couch to wait. “We’ll go when you’re finished here.”

“It’s still not even midnight,” Hana said, her voice slightly muffled as she spoke through a washrag tied over her nose and mouth. She renewed her dusting with vigor. “You could still get at least a few hours’ sleep.”

He could, but Sephiroth found it fascinating to watch her. She had been cleaning so hard since the early afternoon that she had worked up quite a sweat. Everything had been neatly sorted and organized, not so much as fork or vase out of place. And then she had scrubbed and scoured – _everything_. The walls, the floors, the laundry, the dishes, the rugs and mirrors and shelves and furniture. The house smelled strongly of bleach and other cleaning chemicals, and as there were no windows, Sephiroth had opened the front door and turned on every fan he had to disperse the fumes. Though his nose was highly offended, he made the best of it. His home was practically glittering.

_Osouji_ , she had called it. It was some kind of traditional cleaning rampage to welcome in the New Year. He had tried to help, but Hana would only let him clean his own bedroom, which she never entered. He had finished a long time ago. He thought he had been very thorough, but watching Hana he began to doubt that it would have stood up to her standards.

“You can,” she huffed as attacked the dust with her duster the way he would attack crazed malboros, “boil the water for the soba.”

Sephiroth went to the kitchen and filled a large saucepan with water from the tap, careful not to let any get out of the pot and into the sink that Hana had just polished. He set it on the stove and turned up the heat. “Will you be done by midnight? You only have forty-five minutes left.”

Hana let out a Wutaian word that sounded like a curse and dusted faster.

Sephiroth knew that New Years was an extremely important holiday in Wutai, but Hana had said nothing about it until just after Zack had left, when a delivery man had brought a package from Ma. Inside had been a large package of brown, slender noodles, a small glass container of sauce, and a red envelope filled with money and wishes for a happy new year. She had immediately lost despair that she couldn’t have an authentic New Year’s and took to cleaning like a madwoman.

The water had reached a rolling boil only a few minutes later, and Hana slumped to the floor with an exhausted sigh. “It will have to do,” she said. 

“You should shower and dress,” Sephiroth said. “I’ll boil the noodles.”

Hana narrowed her eyes at him, debating whether or not to trust him with the preparation of her precious, imported Soba noodles. But then she looked down at the t-shirt and sweatpants she had worn to clean. “I guess the last thing to clean is myself.”

While she showered, Sephiroth put the noodles in and then got his hairdryer from his bathroom and hung it by the cord over her doorknob. It was an unspoken rule that neither entered the other’s room.

Just as the noodles were looking about done by his judgment, the water stopped, and soon after, Hana reached out to grab the hairdryer before disappearing inside her room again. “Do I drain these?” Sephiroth asked the closed door.

“No,” she said. “Just leave it. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Sephiroth turned off the heat on the stove and again went to his room. He returned with the box of Wutaian dishes he had secretly bought on their shopping trip. He pulled out two bowls and one pair of chopsticks, leaving the rest of the dishes in the box but keeping the set on the kitchen counter where she would see it. He set their two places, hers with the chopsticks and his with a regular fork, and then sat himself down at the table.

Hana had dressed herself in a yukata with a wider obi than usual, and her dark hair was elegantly arranged atop her head and decorated with jeweled pins. The dishes caught her attention immediately, and she stared wide-eyed at them.

“Five minutes to midnight,” Sephiroth said, holding out his bowl to her. “Let’s eat.”

He tried to guess what she would say. Would she complain about the expense? Would she pretend she hadn’t seen them?

She did neither. She smiled brightly, if a little bashfully, and simply gave a soft, “Thank you, Sephiroth.”

She took his bowl and hers and piled the noodles in, then used the warm water they had been boiled in and the sauce Ma had provided to make a broth. She served him first, and then herself. “ _Itadakimasu_.”

“ _Itadakimasu_ ,” Sephiroth repeated, his words a poor imitation of hers.

Sephiroth began to eat silently, but was distracted by a very loud, very unexpected sound. He looked up at Hana to find a cascade of noodles still hanging out of her mouth. The sound stopped abruptly and Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. Awkwardly, Hana slurped the remaining noodles into her mouth, quieter this time. “Sorry,” she said. “I always forget that it’s really rude on the Continent.”

“You slurp your noodles?”

“Yes. It’s tradition.” And she continued to do so, but she kept the volume and speed down in consideration of Sephiroth. He couldn’t help a smile. She had proved herself to be capable of quite the racket!

When nothing was left but the broth, Hana said, “Happy New Year.”

“And to you,” he returned. The time was now 12:10. The year had begun in silence, without ceremony. It felt hollow and anticlimactic.

“There are lots of fireworks going off in Wutai now,” Hana said. “It’s an amazing celebration.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you like the soba?”

“It was very good. It has a unique flavor and texture.”

“If you’d like, you could probably try lots of other New Year’s treats over in Wutai! There’s so many—“ She stopped abruptly, looking a little forlorn. “New Year’s is when I miss Wutai the most,” she said. She clapped her hands in front of her heart, regaining her composure. “Right. But now all that’s left is to watch the sunrise – the first sunrise of the year. But that’s hours away, and Zack will be here before that. I think we should both get some rest until then.”

“One more thing, then,” Sephiroth said, a small black box in his hand. “You will need this before I leave.”

* * *

 

The night sky was ablaze. Even the stars lost their brilliance when faced against such radiant eruptions of light. Majestic reds and blues and greens flew and danced their dance, short lived, but no less glorious for it, and there was always another hue ready to take the place of its fallen comrade. Tonight, nature faded away to let man’s flowers of fire burn furiously in the untouchable heavens if only for but a moment, a celebration of the passing of time which, no matter with what wrath man raved, would eventually claim the lives of them all.

Ryouan watched the fireworks explode from the balcony of the temple, somber in his thoughts as every burst was born in radiance only to die after one exquisite breath. How short their lives, how ephemeral. He supposed that his own life, though long in human years, was no different, a wave of the Lifestream to soon dissolve back into the fabric of eternity, a blink in the life of the planet and the cosmos.

The temple was washed with colored light. One moment he was enveloped in the blue of seas only to be then drowning in crimson. He let his body flow with the light, a tiny vessel floating along its vicissitudes but unruffled by the violent transitions from one hue to another. Each had its own time, its own beauty, and its own silent demise.

He was aware of the shadow behind him, an impurity the light could not purge. The black figure stretched as a vacancy in the heart of the illumination, an unfillable vacuum of cold and evil against the full and rich dance of colors.

“Have you come to celebrate the New Year as well, Mr. Reuben?” Ryouan asked.

The shadow approached. He heard the footsteps against the wood and the tap of a cane. Though the dark stranger was at his very back, Ryouan’s gaze stayed fixed on the glorious horizon.

“I never cared for the fireworks.” The voice seethed as it slithered and slipped, corroding the spirit of peace in the temple like an acid. “Loud and obnoxious things, and far too bright for my liking.”

“I suppose a heart as black as yours could never find enjoyment in the light.”

Ryouan felt the evil grin in his heart instead of seeing it with his eyes. The man’s aura was seeping across the wooden floor like a dark, foreboding miasma. The spirits cried at its touch, but Ryouan held his peace as a post in a maelstrom. “Indeed, old man. You just might be right.”

In the distance, the fireworks still crackled and boomed. Ryouan smiled softly at a fiery apparition in the shape of a phoenix, and at its side a fearsome dragon, poised to strike. “The end is soon,” Ryouan said. “It is said that the phoenix and the dragon cannot dwell together. One or the other must fade.”

“Well said,” the dark stranger unfurled a cloak as black as night, the thick fabric parting to reveal the glint of a silver rapier at his waist. The cane clapped as it hit the ground again, the temple shuddering in anticipation.

“You have defiled this sanctuary with your weapons and your malice,” Ryouan said without anger.

“I should think that your most recent visitor already did that for me. Did you forget?”

Ryouan closed his eyes, hands lightly clasped in prayer position as he sank into the warm waters of meditation. “He did not carry his weapon when he came here, and he did not hold violence in his heart.

“You aren’t so removed from the world that you didn’t recognize who it was, did you?”

“I know full well who he was,” Ryouan answered. “And I knew you would come after I gave your daughter to him.”

Reuben laughed long and hard, a harsh and grating sound that defiled the last of the peace and holiness of the temple. “Did you think I would be _angry_? Quite the opposite, I’m afraid. Now my ties run to ShinRa as deep as they do to Wutai. You have given me the world on a platter, old priest.”

“You cannot win on either front.”

“Time will tell, but let me tell you this: my _precious_ little girl has fled from me now, but she has always come running back to me in the bitter, _bitter_ end. I have my ways to make her return, and ways to make her _obey_. I think it quite charming, how she thinks she can hide behind that husband of hers. Adorable! My naive little snowflake…heavens, how she will need to be taught!”

“You cannot clip the wings of a phoenix any more than you can tame the flames that grant it rebirth. You could not tame Aika and you cannot bridle her daughter.”

“Shame you won’t be around to see me do it,” his voice was full of mock sympathy, but had hardened to iced onyx when he spoke again. “I tire of your games, old man. You know why I’m here.”

“I do,” Ryouan said. “And I do not fear it.”

“Shame…I had so wished to hear you beg. But time grows short and I have much more important matters to see to.”

Ryouan looked out into the darkness. The balcony overlooked a deep ravine, the bottom of which could not be seen. Not for the first time, and completely without fear, he wondered what lay down there forgotten in the depths of the earth.

“It is fitting that it is New Year’s Day,” Ryouan said. “My end is truly a beginning.”

“Indeed. The beginning my bright new era.”

“You cannot win. It was prophesied eons before us both. The Kazehawa bloodline was given the emblem of the phoenix. They will fly, as is their destiny.”

His evil laugh ricocheted off the mountains, echoing as if Ryouan’s attacker was not one but legion. “Then fly for me, Ryouan Kazehawa! Show me the strength of your legendary blood!”

Ryouan was seized by his robes and thrown from the balcony.

As he flew, time stopped. Midair, weightless and free, he turned his eyes to the stars one last time. He could now see them even through the light of the fireworks, distant but immortal, with lives that neither man nor the planet itself could rival. Far beneath them, two final fireworks burst into being, and time, though drastically slowed, resumed.

Would the phoenix or the dragon fade first? His eyes stayed heavenward to tell, clinging desperately to the sight, though the wind rushed past him as he was drawn earthwards.

Through the smoke of the past fireworks, he could see the vibrant colors of the phoenix dissolve while the mighty dragon still flew strong and proud in the night.

“Oh, Hana…” he cried in sorrow with his final breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Osouji - as explained in the text, this is a traditional cleaning done on New Year's. It gets pretty intense. I also alluded to a red envelope filled with money, which is another New Year's tradition.
> 
> 2) Soba - noodles made from buckwheat. A tradition on New Year's, but you can eat them all year round too. Yes, you slurp them.
> 
> 3) Itadakimasu - A rough equivalent of "Let's eat", said before a meal to show appreciation and gratitude for the food.


	22. The Summons

It was very hard to not let his guard down; this was the easiest mission Zack had ever been assigned. As an extra perk, it came with some of the best food he’d ever eaten.

He had arrived well before first light, and Sephiroth had shown him the apartment, speaking about it more like a battleground than a home. He saw every way in and out there was, including the vents (though he hadn’t the faintest clue how an invasion could be launched through that tiny thing). He had even been shown into the General’s bedroom, though it had taken a harsh stare to get him in.

Hana had perched herself on the couch while that happened, dazed and confused for some reason. However, at dawn, she had traded places with Zack on the couch while she and her husband went to the rooftop together.

On day one, only about an hour into the “mission”, he realized with a start just what was making Hana so pensive. She’d been laying on the couch, facing the ceiling, looking intently at her raised left hand when he had caught the glint in the light.

“Holy…!” Zack had shouted. “Is that…?”

Embarrassed to be caught, she lowered her hand and righted herself on the couch. “Yeah,” she said. “He gave it to me last night.”

She wouldn’t say more about it and made a point to keep her hands folded with the right one covering her left, but he saw her staring at it whenever she thought his attention was elsewhere.

Hana spent the day decorating. Zack had moved all the furniture away from the walls, and she had begun to paint the room a deep, rich crimson. Eventually, he had grabbed a roller himself and joined her. It was soothing work, and Zack had really enjoyed himself.

Finally, at dinner, Hana talked. “He caught me off guard,” she said without prologue after softly slurping her yakisoba. Zack quite liked the sound she made – it made her seem more human. In addition, her slurping sort of gave him permission to do the same, and he was more than happy to be able to relax his manners.

“With the ring?”

“Yeah,” she blushed furiously. “I didn’t think he’d actually….”

“So, are you going to let me see it?”

She slid her left hand across the table into his sight.

His first impression had been right – it was huge, and it was hugely jeweled. “Wow,” he said, staring into the depths of the gems. Each, from the largest to the smallest, was intricately cut with many facets amplifying the light, flashing rainbow flecks with even the smallest movement of her hand. Zack didn’t know much about gems, but the diamonds were clear, bright, and brilliant, ensconced in flawless silver nearly as bright as the jewels.

Zack whistled low. “How much did he spend on that thing?”

“I really would rather not know. But I know it was far too much.”

“So…is it supposed to be a flower or a snowflake?” From the center gem, tiny silver branches extended, the width and size of the jewels tapering off until at the tips, the only evidence of diamonds was the tiniest pinprick of light.

“Well, I think that’s kind of the point not to know.”

Zack slurped another large mouthful of the noodles. “Explain.”

“You know my full name isn’t Hana, right?”

“Oh. No, I didn’t.”

“I’m Yukihana,” she said. “Which means ‘snowflake’. But throughout my life I’ve been called both _Yuki_ , which means ‘snow’, and _Hana_ , which is ‘flower’. So I think the ring is… maybe both?”

“Wow,” Zack said again. “I bet he had to have it custom ordered for it to be that related to your name. That’s really thoughtful of him.” He frowned and dropped his fork, heavily tangled in a mass of food. “Who am I kidding? That’s downright _romantic_.”

“What it really is is confusing,” she slurped another mouthful with beautiful chopsticks. “And it’s too big on my finger and it feels weird and I haven’t been able to think straight since he gave it to me.”

Zack grinned, his smile wide and mischievous. “Confused, huh? Do you feel warm and tingly too?”

“I am _not_ …!” she protested loudly, smacking her hand against the table, but she couldn’t even finish her sentence she was so flustered. She huffed loudly and filled her mouth with food instead. “It’s for _show_!” she said after some quick and furious chewing, some food still in her mouth. “He wanted me to have a huge rock as part of our act. It’s not like it means _anything_! Besides, I’m pretty sure he likes seeing me squirm. He’s some kind of sadist, I know it.”

Zack considered pressing her further – she was proving pretty fun to tease – but slowly pieces began to fall into place, and he realized something. “You don’t love him.” A statement, not a question.

Hana looked at him and blinked, chopsticks halfway up to her mouth. She put the food down with a sigh. “Sephiroth would have liked me to keep up the act for you too. But…I can’t. Not to you. And I’m pretty sure Genesis and Angeal have figured it out by now too.”

“You didn’t marry him for love.”

Hana stabbed a chunk of green pepper with a little too much force. “No.”

“Oh.”

Both took a few bites in silence. Zack finished his, and stood up to serve himself seconds, but Hana swiped his plate and refilled it before he got a change to do so. She already knew him well, he thought, because she’d heaped the noodles exceptionally high.

“So why _did_ you marry him?”

“That’s something I’m not ready to talk about.”

Zack began to look extremely uncomfortable. “It was um… _consensual_ …wasn’t it?”

Hana returned his worry with a low stare. “Look, we _both_ agreed to the marriage, and he has not done _anything_ even the least bit improper to me before or since.”

“Okay! Okay! I get it! Um…good. Just uh…che-ecking.” Zack knew how to take a hint to back off, but he didn’t want to abandon the subject either. “Well, if you both agreed to the marriage, why did _he_ —“

“I haven’t the slightest clue.” She shook her head. “I may be married to him, but I can’t read him much better than anyone else can. And it’s not like he talks about this kind of stuff.” She shoveled more food into her mouth with her chopsticks. “But _you_ can ask him if you’d like,” she grumbled.

The thought made Zack choke on his food. “But are you _sure_ there’s nothing…going on?”

“Are you trying to get at something?” The way she raised one eyebrow accusingly was strikingly similar to someone else he knew.

“Well no, but he’s really powerful, and famous, and attractive. So I guess I’m just saying that you wouldn’t be the first female to have your hormones scrambled by the guy.”

“Powerful?” Hana asked, tilting her head to one side as her eyes looked at the ceiling, stroking her lower lip lightly with her thumb and then biting it in deep consideration. For how annoyed he had made her a few seconds ago, she sure changed tracks fast.

“Well, yeah. SOLDIER First Class. Though if we’re really being honest here he’s in a class of his own.”

“Hmm. Famous…?” Her head tilted to the opposite side.

“The sheer number of fan clubs the guy has will tell you that much.”

“Attractive…?”

Zack saw where this was going _just_ in time and clamped his mouth shut. Hana burst into laughter, clapping her hands twice and leaning back in her chair in merry mirth. “That’s not funny!” Zack insisted, beet red in the face.

“Yes it is!” she said.

Zack looked around the room frantically. “Is the room bugged or something? Is he going to hear that?”

Hana was laughing too hard to give him an answer, which only made him more nervous. Sephiroth hadn’t said anything about voice bugs but that might have been for a reason.

“He’s my superior officer!” Zack said, voice higher than usual. “And he’s _married_ …to _you_! I can’t be caught saying that stuff! Forget what Angeal will do to me, I’ll get it straight from him and it will be the _last_ thing I ever get!”

Hana was finally calming down, sighing contentedly. “No,” she said. “The room’s not bugged. But you might have said a _little_ more….” There was the sweetest hint of a pout on her lips.

“I said more than enough and I’m not saying any more!” He was utterly humiliated, not only because he had said so much, but because she’d so expertly played him for the fool.

“Aw come on, don’t be angry. It was just a bit of fun! I promise I won’t tell him.” She could make her dark eyes really big when she wanted to.

Zack was frowning deeply when he handed her his plate for thirds. “You better be glad your food’s so good, or it might be a lot harder to forgive you.”

“If I let you in on a secret plot,” Hana said as she heaped the plate with noodles again, “will that erase the last of your grudge?”

“What kind of secret plot?” Zack asked, sensing trouble, but he was also intrigued.

“Revenge,” she said, voice thick with sweetness. “If I have to wear a ring, my dearest _pooky-bear_ has to, too.”

Zack smiled and decided to forgive her, because the thought of Sephiroth being given a ring and being called pooky _-_ bear _was_ pretty funny. And the food was really good.

“Sephiroth never told me that you were evil,” Zack said.

“Not evil. Vengeful,” she said simply. “ _You_ called me a hormone-scrambled female. But don’t worry, I’m not selective. My darling Sephy-kins will get what’s coming to him too.”

He blamed the paint fumes. He was pretty sure _something_ had gotten into her head and that was the only thing he could think of.

“We’ll go to town tomorrow and buy the biggest, fattest, most bejeweled ring we can find. I want it to shine right through his glove!”

But for all of her levity, she sure did spend a lot of time staring at her ring and looking very confused.

* * *

 

They never got to the store.

He’d slept on the couch, which he’d moved to be about five feet in front of Hana’s bedroom door. It was as strategic a position as he could think of, with direct view of the front door and dead in the middle of the path from Sephiroth’s room to hers, if they decided to try the window trick again. Just after dawn, and well before either of them had any intention of awakening, the intercom by the front door buzzed – loud and repeatedly.

Hana came out, still squinting with the weight of sleep on her eyes, dressed in a loose yukata that Zack guessed served as a nightgown but could have passed for daytime wear for all he knew. “What do they want at this hour?” She made her way to the door and pushed the button, replying to the beep with an unceremonious, “What?”

“Mrs. Hana, you are needed immediately at the front lobby.”

“For what…?”

“Three messengers from Wutai have arrived to see you. One says his name is Hiroki.”

Hana did not move for such a long period of time that Zack sat up to see what the matter was. “I’m coming,” she said, and her voice was very, very small.

* * *

 

Zack knew it had to be bad because she’d dressed in the finest clothes he’d ever seen. This time, she donned a full-on kimono, sleeves only a few scant inches shy of the ground, and a thick obi tied in an impossibly intricate bow on her back. She shone, not only from the shimmering silk of her gown and the silver embroidery, but from the many pins, combs, and ornaments carefully arranged into her perfectly sculpted hair. She had put on makeup, her face washed alabaster white, eyes lined in darkest kohl, and lips painted red as blood.

He gulped, feeling like he was escorting royalty instead of his little sister.

“Hey,” he said, forcing what he hoped looked like a hopeful smile. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know what _‘it’_ is,” Hana said sadly.

No, he didn’t. But he knew that whatever it was, it was big, and it was bad.

They left the house and entered the elevator. Zack patiently followed at her pace, which was slow and unbearably heavy. He felt like he was marching to the beat of a funeral dirge, escorted by an empress on the way to the gallows.

“Can I take your hand?” he asked softly.

She gently offered it. Her grip was weak and shaky, but he held tight, wishing he could lend her his strength through it.

They took the elevator all the way down and then began down the stairs to the receptionist’s desk. The first thing Zack saw on his way down was the exquisite finery that the three messengers were wearing. They all wore a vibrant scarlet, and all bore an embroidered, golden dragon on their breasts. Their long hair was tied high atop their heads in a small bun, on which a curious hat was pinned. _Officials? From the_ palace _?_ His heart sank like a stone. _What do they want with Hana…?_

The second thing he noticed was that the arrival of such high ranking ambassadors had drawn the attention of ShinRa’s highest. The president was there, mumbling something to his son, Rufus, and Heidegger. Lazard, Tseng, and Scarlet were there as well, scattered in the lobby without ceremony, one as clearly confused as the next. The only ones who were composed were the three ambassadors, their eyes on Hana, their faces solemn.

Zack doubted that Hana saw any of it. Her eyes were on the floor one step in front of her feet.

Zack didn’t know if it was against protocol, but he took Hana’s arm to firmly guide and support her down the steps from the commons to the reception area. She stopped after descending the last step, though there was still ten feet between her and the messengers and even more between her and the ShinRa officials. 

“Kazehawa-sama,” the foremost official said. All three bowed deeply from the waist. “It warms the very heart of Wutai to see that you are well.”

Hana did the same. “Hiroki,” she said softly. “It has been a long time.” When she rose from the bow, she was facing straight forward, but her face was stone and her eyes were lightless.

 _Why don’t they speak in Wutaiese?_ Zack wondered. The fact alarmed him even more. Did they want the ShinRa officials to know exactly what was going on? For some reason, he did not think this was a good sign.

Hiroki held something balanced on his upturned palms, something covered in a swath of blue silk, embroidered with silver phoenixes. Against their red attire and golden dragons, it stood out as a patch of bright darkness.

“Yukihana, daughter of Aika Kazehawa, daughter of the line of the phoenix back to the legendary mother herself,” Hiroki’s voice was deep and formal, and it rang through the room. Even the receptionist’s full attention had been commanded by his declaration, little though it meant to any of them. “It is with deepest sorrow that we bear news that your beloved grandfather, Ryouan of the Shrine, has passed into the next world.”

The ShinRa officials began to murmur. Zack clenched Hana’s arm as hard as he could, but she gave no response through her mask of stone. “How?” she said. Her voice could have come from a corpse.

“He fell from the balcony as he watched the fireworks on New Year’s Day. The railing was weak and gave way. The physicians wish to assure you that his death was swift and now his spirit dwells with the gods.”

Hana blinked twice, very slowly.

“Yukihana,” Hiroki said, and for a moment his face and voice were very soft. “Young snow blossom, now the day is come to fulfill the purpose for which you were born.”

Hana was no longer breathing.

“With Ryouan’s passing, you stand as the last surviving heir of the Kazehawa line.”

“ _No_ ….” It slipped from her lips, quiet as the breath of the dead.

The three messengers fell to one knee, and the two flanking Hiroki bowed their heads. Hiroki looked at her with the deepest sorrow in his eyes before he closed them, averting his eyes slightly to the side as he, too, lowered his head and spoke the words that would damn her forever.

“Behold, all witnesses present, Yukihana Kazehawa of the Young Snow Blossoms, with the true blood of the ancient mother flowing in her veins, as she ascends to fill her birthright as master of the phoenix…”

The blue silk slipped away.

In Hiroki’s palms was a _crown_.

A circlet of phoenixes, wrought in silver. Wings emblazoned with feathers of fire opals stretched high and tall and intertwined in a delicate, intricate, eternal dance.

Hana’s strength failed her. No one heard the rest of Hiroki’s proclamation, for as she crumpled to her knees, body bent forward in anguish, she screamed.

* * *

 

No one saw her, for all eyes were on Hana as she wailed. It didn’t matter – she didn’t need to be seen, only to see.

Zack had dropped to the floor beside her, and was trying to hoist her up but she was dead weight, unresponsive to anything except the fear or pain or whatever it was that was behind her horrible cries. He was yelling himself, trying to get her to hear his words over her own voice. She could not. Everyone, perhaps even Zack himself, knew that she was too far gone to hear.

No one moved, unsure of what to do or even what it meant.

Neither dilemma troubled her.

She could see the headlines now: _SEPHIROTH’S WIFE IS WUTAI’S LOST PRINCESS_. Papers would sell faster than they could print them. The people in the slums would use their daily wage to buy the special edition with color photos instead of their supper. Four, five, maybe even a record breaking _six_ reprints.

 _Snap. Snap._ She made sure to get several shots of the courtiers but most especially the crown. That was the icing on the cake. She couldn’t have asked for a more picturesque setup. Royal servants come to fetch the lost princess, all of ShinRa standing by in mute shock. The drama of Zack grappling with Hana to try to calm her was the most delicious.

She could spin that so many ways she was getting dizzy from the possibilities. An affair, perhaps? With another SOLDIER no less! Her secret lover fighting to protect her from her terrible fate, at the same time revealing their terrible betrayal to his commander and her husband… In the end, it didn’t really matter. She could play with it, making up a new, juicy scenario for each reprint.

They would eat it up faster than Wutaian takeout.

She smirked as she got a good shot of Hana mid-wail, kimono rumpled, makeup smeared, delicate hair pins thrown from her hair as she writhed. Ruined. Defeated.

Not only would it be the piece of her career, but she would get to write the same ending for each story in as many ways as she so desired.

_Sephiroth will surely have no more of her after this._

Hana’s screams gradually gained form, and eventually they could be deciphered as legitimate words:

_“He killed him! He **killed him!** Murderer… **murderer**!!”_

She jotted it down in her notebook as she left. Murder…that was a delicious detail. She’d have to be sure to include that somewhere too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Yakisoba - pan-fried noodles, tossed with veggies in a tasty sauce.
> 
> 2) Kazehawa-sama - The suffix (~sama) is the highest you can go in rank, it is extremely formal and polite. Used for bosses, royalty, and gods.


	23. The Return

“What is it?”

Zack grimaced. After the harshness of the last few hours, he would have liked to start his phone conversation with the standard three rings and then a nice, normal, “Hello, who is this?” But Sephiroth was not known for his geniality.

“It’s Hana, sir,” Zack said. “I mean, she’s fine! Physically, anyway. But something big happened and I don’t understand it but I thought you should know right away.”

“Explain.”

“Three royal messengers came from Wutai, right into the front lobby. The President and some other bigwigs were there. They said a lot of stuff that made no sense, and all I got out of it was that her grandfather died and they gave her a crown. Lots of stuff about a phoenix and chosen blood or something.”

Sephiroth was silent long enough for Zack to get that he understood it all and it meant something pretty bad, but then it was back to business. “I will make preparations to return immediately.”

“What… _now_? What about the mission?”

“The war is over. Wutai has surrendered.”

Zack wasn’t quite sure he heard right. “Just like that? A week ago there was no end in sight, and you’ve barely been gone for twenty-four hours!” _What in Gaia happened over there?_ he wanted to ask, but was sure that if it hadn’t hit headlines yet, it was still confidential stuff.

“How did her grandfather die?” Sephiroth asked.

Zack had figured that he wouldn’t get an answer to his question, but Sephiroth’s brusque dismissal of it altogether still stung. “They said he fell from the balcony watching the fireworks on New Year’s. Hana…doesn’t buy it.” It was an understatement. Even now, after her manic hysteria had given way to exhaustion, she was still crying murder with all of her dwindling strength.

“I don’t either. Zack, you are not to let her out of your sight, not for one moment.”

“She kind of wants some space now—“ but he trailed off. Sephiroth’s hostile refusal to reply made it clear as day that he was stupidly defying an order. “Understood, sir,” he said.

“I will be back shortly.” And then Sephiroth hung up.

Zack closed his phone and put it back in his pocket. He went to the kitchen table where he had set his sword to rest since nearly the beginning of the mission. Next to it was the crown, nearly glowing in otherworldly splendor.

_A crown_. Zack didn’t know a thing about Wutaian government or the headwear thereof, but he _did_ know that those things weren’t given out easily.

Zack took his eyes away from the artifact and took his sword in hand. Sephiroth’s orders had left no room for fudging. And if it was a fight that was coming, he would be more than happy to oblige.

Hana had fallen still in her room, but he wasn’t worried. She was spent – physically as well as emotionally. He rapped softly on her door and then turned the knob.

She wasn’t sleeping, just laying on her futon staring at the ceiling. There were no windows in her room, and the only light she’d kept on was a small lamp beside her on the floor. The dark, heavy pall came from much more than the lack of light.

Zack silently seated himself cross-legged at the foot of her futon, sword rested across his lap, back to her to allow the most privacy he could. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Your husband’s orders. He’s on his way back now. I’ll be still and quiet so you can pretend I’m not even here.”

For a while, she did. But then her voice came, quiet and strained. “Please sit beside me.”

As he made himself comfortable at the side of her futon, she slipped a tentative hand over his thigh. Zack understood and seized it in his own, holding tight.

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t tell her things were going to be all right. The disturbing thought went through his mind that he didn’t even know who _she_ was. Was she really royalty? What had she been hiding from him…from all of them?

He smiled wryly. It didn’t matter.

Perhaps against his better judgment, he trusted her.

“I’m here, sis.”

Somehow, for those dark hours, it was enough.

* * *

 

As far as the three SOLDIERS were concerned, their job was done. Their business was war, and surrender was as good as a closed case for them. The rest was up to the diplomats, and they’d just as soon not be present while they did their part of the job. The company was being slow about their return trip to Midgar, and in the meantime, they sat bored out of their minds in ShinRa’s modest fort.

And so it was no small amount of fury that Genesis returned from lunch to find that Sephiroth had managed to get himself a chopper ride back to Midgar – without him.

Angeal suspected that Sephiroth was calling in on some special favors from the company for him to be released from duty so quickly. When he really wanted something, he got it, and ShinRa usually bypassed their thriftiness and efficiency to please their prized weapon and poster boy. If Sephiroth used his trump cards any more often than he did, Angeal would have said he was spoiled rotten. Genesis already believed it, but kept quiet because he had developed ways to try to weasel himself into the shining generosity that the company bestowed upon its silver child.

He couldn’t do that if Sephiroth was already gone.

“They scheduled our departure for tomorrow morning.” Angeal tried to be the voice of reason and peace. “It’s only a difference of a few hours.”

“That’s not the point. The point is that he has developed a nasty habit of deserting us to the bigwigs since Hana got here.”

Angeal couldn’t argue with him there. The meetings back at ShinRa had only gotten more frequent and heated. He doubted Sephiroth knew it, but Hana was a big reason why. ShinRa could only float on the story of their fake romance for so long, and now they were beginning to ask real questions. The company didn’t long tolerate unknowns – especially ones from the nation they were at war with, who had a vague and increasingly shady background, and who were living within corporate headquarters.

“It’s not her fault,” Angeal said. Or at least, she wasn’t _trying_ to make them miserable.

“I know it’s not her fault, it’s _his_. He should start managing the management on his own.”

The rest of the day was agonizingly uneventful. Even Angeal’s not-so-gentle reminders that Genesis should be using this time to compose his mission report did no good.

But morning came, and with it, the promise of home.

They both were all too happy to leave. They entered the helicopter and breathed a sigh of relief. At least back at headquarters they could focus on training.

“Morning paper?” the pilot asked, handing back a newspaper. “Hot off the Midgar press. Third reprint in less than twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t read the paper,” Angeal said, holding up a hand to politely decline.

“You will read this one,” Genesis said, seizing it from the pilot. And as soon as Angeal saw the large photo on the front of Hana crumpled in defeat, he did. Both men read quickly, even the roar of the chopper fading away as a clear but horrible picture was painted for them.

“Sephiroth,” Genesis hissed, “had better have a _really_ good cover up this time.”

* * *

 

She was there when he arrived, ever in the shadows. He walked with furious grace inside, not even pausing to regain his bearings after he set foot on the ground again.

_Click. Click. Click._

After watching his regal arrival, she viewed her results on her digital camera. Her snapshots were flawless. It was a moving scene, more perfect than a painting. The colorless sky and dying light of dusk, the dull tones of the helipad, and against it, the stark blackness of his coat, and the vivid silver of his hair.

The war hero, his mission accomplished, arriving home only to turmoil.

Turmoil that she, herself, had created for him.

She groaned as she reached the third shot. Something large was obstructing the view of his hair – an ugly black smear on his perfect silver tresses. She rubbed at her display screen, but it was not a flaw on the device. What was it that had gotten in the way? It was so blurred she couldn’t even tell.

No matter, the other two images would suffice. His back was tall and straight, his shoulders squared to the challenge, and his face set in a grim determination. It was a look that, until now, she had only seen in memories. Now, at the very least, she could capture it forever.

_He probably doesn’t even remember…_ And droplets of water fell to the display screen.

_Sephiroth…_

* * *

 

Someone was assaulting the front door.

Zack jumped and grabbed his sword. He hadn’t expected an invasion to come through such an obvious entrance but he wasn’t picky. Made his job easier, at least.

They weren’t being subtle at all. Lots of angry shouting. But it sounded like just one person…?

Zack sidled his way to the door, and dared a look through the peephole. The face was recognizable, though blown out of proportion through the convex glass. In another situation, it might have been funny.

Zack activated the intercom with the press of a button. “Uh, can I help you, Commander Rhapsodos?”

The assault stopped, and Zack watched Genesis’s eyes narrow and his face grow grotesquely huge as the man on the other side of the door put his face close to the peephole, though in vain; he would not be able to see inside. “What are _you_ doing in there, puppy?”

“I’m under Sephiroth’s orders to guard Hana while he sets some things straight.”

“So he’s back?”

“Yeah, he got in last night.”

“But he’s not here?” This time it was Angeal’s voice, his angry voice. Zack cringed, knowing the danger in that tone well.

“Yeah, he went…somewhere.”

“Just as well. I’d rather Hana not hear this.” And he heard Angeal storm away.

“So, puppy, it’s you and me. Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to get creative?”

“Look, it’s just me and Hana. If you have issues with Sephiroth you should really talk to him--”

“Let him in,” Hana said softly.

Zack turned to look at her. Especially since they had discovered that yesterday’s incident had made it to the news, she had been silent, sitting still on the couch and staring blankly into the distance. “Hana, you need to rest…”

“Let him in.” It was even softer this time, no more than a breath. Zack sighed and unbolted the door.

Genesis bypassed Zack entirely, not even sparing him a glance. He went straight for Hana, despite Zack’s protests. He walked slowly until he stood not even a foot in front of her, using the full advantage of his height and power. There was no fear in her, only deep sadness.

“So,” Genesis said slowly, “ _Princess_ , I think you have some answers for me?”

Hana closed her eyes. “Sit down, Genesis,” she said. “It’s a very long story.”


	24. The Kazehawa Phoenix

“Many generations ago,” Hana began, “the kingdom of Wutai was ruled by an emperor whose true given name has been lost to the ages. In the chronicles he is simply called Ichirou, or the First Son of Wutai, though his family name, Kisaragi, remains.”

“I’ve heard that name before,” Genesis said dryly, though it meant little. Everyone knew that name. Godo, the current ruler of Wutai, carried that name.

Hana continued as Zack seated himself at the kitchen table, well out of Genesis’s reach. “It is said that Ichirou’s reign was cursed. He took the throne after a bloody civil war over who should be emperor. In the end, he emerged the victor, but inherited a country that was ravaged. Plague, famine, storms, poverty…the people and the royal house were in turmoil. With all the suffering, it was easy to put the blame on the son of the family who had clawed and assassinated their way to the top. It was said that it was the gods’ punishment, and it ran deep indeed. Ichirou himself fell ill with the plague, and barely lived, with his health stripped away. He became sickly and frail. If his bloodline was to retain the throne, he desperately needed an heir before he died.

“His efforts only seemed to ignite the vengeance of the gods. His first wife died from the very same plague that had nearly taken her husband’s life only months before. His second wife was assassinated as she slept, and his third fell ill with a sickness that ravaged her mind. She disappeared into the night and was never seen again.

“Legend has it that one day as he paced the gardens, his heart gave out, and he fell into a pond, losing consciousness. Some even go so far to say that he actually died. When he awoke, he said the most beautiful woman greeted him, a goddess descended to the mortal realm. She had pulled him from the pond and wrapped him in her own kimono to keep away the chill. With hands softer than silk and a voice like a cool breeze on a summer day, she had coaxed him back to life. He said it was a sign, a renewal of his life, a chance of redemption from the deities who had made him suffer so.

“His health returned, and he took her as his bride at once. No one knows who she was or where she came from, but her name was…" Hana stopped, and took a deep, heavy breath.

“Yukihana. Yukihana Kazehawa.”    

She paused as Zack and Genesis took in the full weight of what she had said. She shared the exact same name as a legendary queen from centuries ago.

“And at once she was with child. An oracle that had been silent since the land had begun to decay started to prophesy in the streets again. He shouted to all of Wutai that the son of Yukihana would save our land and that his bloodline would endure to the end of the nation. He said our country would enter an age of peace never before seen, and that her son would renew not only Wutai, but the entire world. Every day more and more people believed his words. Soon, all of Wutai anxiously awaited the birth of the emperor that would save them all.

“But perhaps the gods had not exacted all of their vengeance just yet. Yukihana fell desperately ill, with the child of prophecy still in her womb.

“Doctors from all over the land came to attend to her, but no one knew of the illness that decayed her skin and tainted her eyes. No cure could be found, and many times, the nation feared that she would die with their hope within her.

“But she survived to the day of her delivery, and against all odds gave birth to a healthy son. Everyone present rejoiced, but Yukihana uttered her final words that changed all of history:

“’ _This is not the emperor_.’

“After one long hour, amid the raucous confusion her declaration had caused, a second son was born. She had carried not one heir, but two, inside her womb. The moment the second son left her body, she died, without a word as to what she had meant, or whether this second son was the chosen one.

“And so the nation was split. The older son, Tokimune, preceded his brother by an entire hour, and so many felt that throne should fall to him. But his mother had denounced him from his first moments in the world. Others placed their faith in the second son, Soujun, believing that Yukihana had always intended to name him as the child of the prophecy. In addition, Soujun had the affections and hopes of the king Ichirou, for he had inherited his mother’s face and gentle spirit. In remembrance of Yukihana, whom he had dearly loved, he named the younger son Soujun as his heir and he was tentatively placed on the throne.

“So began the second civil war, only a handful of years after the first. Warlords and nobles and merchants allied themselves with one son or the other and fought with all they had for the right to the throne. Wutai was consumed by brutal wars and assassinations again, until Soujun, hoping to end the bloodshed, renounced his sovereignty and left the throne to his elder brother Tokimune.

“The war ended, but the division remained. When Ichirou died, the descendants of Tokimune kept their father’s name of Kisaragi. Soujun’s descendants, against tradition, took on the last name of their fabled mother, Kazehawa. The two families never mixed their blood. A Kisaragi would never marry anyone with so much as a drop of Kazehawa blood in their veins, and vice versa.

“As the tensions cooled, the Kazehawa family returned to court to serve the royal family, and then, eventually, they became high nobles, the most powerful family second only to the emperor’s. It was a golden age of prosperity, with the descendants of the two brothers finally ruling together in harmony.

“But it could not last. With the Kazehawa family’s rise to power came the revival of the old legends. People began to speak that Soujun’s line was the one truly meant for the throne, pointing to their current prosperity as evidence. Only when the Kazehawa clan had returned to the palace had wealth and peace begun to flow.

“At the time, the head of the Kazehawa family’s name was Akito, and he was a wise and humble man who would not risk another civil war. Before the rumors could blossom into bloodshed, he took his family and disappeared from the court entirely. Today, the family exists only in whispers and legends. If they have power still, it is only in the deepest shadows of the court.”

“But you…” Genesis ventured slowly. “ _You_ are a Kazehawa.”

“Not only that,” she said solemnly. “I am the _last_ direct descendant of Soujun’s line.”

Genesis let out a low, slow whistle. “That’s quite a story.”

Zack’s eyes were wide and disbelieving. “It’s like a fairytale.”

“It’s no fairytale, it’s my ancestry.”

“Is there any truth to the article?” Genesis asked. “Are you some lost princess of Wutai?”

Hana shook her head. “There is some truth, but more exaggeration. When Akito pulled the Kazehawa family from the court, the Kisaragi clan bestowed upon us the crest of the phoenix and some emblems and rights. It’s almost impossible to untangle fact from fiction anymore. However, the one thing we know for sure is that should the Kisaragi line ever come to an end, as Soujun’s descendants we would be the first in line to inherit the throne. But few know of this. It is a secret to all but the highest royals of Wutai. We were always meant to be the shadow of the royal family, an enigma, but ready to protect the throne should the unthinkable happen.”

“So it is possible?” Genesis asked. “You _could_ be royalty.”

“I would rather die,” she said strongly, solemnly. “But,” Hana lost her steam immediately, looking weighed down and resigned, “if it came to that, I would have no other choice, if it kept Wutai from anarchy again.”

“So why is this coming to light now?” Genesis asked. “You said your family was secret. Now, Wutai and the whole rest of the world knows.”

“It’s my father. He’s finally making his move.”

Even Genesis could feel Zack’s anger flare without so much as turning to look. Hana sucked in a very deep breath before continuing.

“You both know of him.”

The two men looked at each other. “Genesis hasn’t met him like I have,” Zack said.

“I don’t mean that.” Hana bit her lower lip – hard. “His name is Blackwell Reuben.”

Zack swore loudly. “He was—!”

“…The first SOLDIER,” Genesis finished, regarding Hana with skepticism but no small amount of amusement. “Very interesting indeed.”

“But he vanished off the face of the earth a long time ago!” Zack cried.

“If only. It’s him all right. One look at his eyes will tell you that. Can’t you remember, Zack?”

Zack scrutinized his memories of the man. Honestly, his most vivid image was of that cane he carried. But yes, something had been off about his eyes, something Zack hadn’t understood as a backwoods child.

Eyes infused with mako energy: the SOLDIER trademark.

He fell quiet, not wanting to believe it, but knowing deep down that she was right. The first hero of ShinRa, the first SOLDIER, had become a monster.

“I still don’t know how he found out about the Kazehawa family,” Hana continued. “He went on a mission to Wutai, and once he learned our secret…” Her eyes ignited, and she clenched her fists until her knuckles were white. “He took my mother. He needed an heir with his blood as well as hers,” she said through clenched teeth. She could say no more.

Zack swore again, banging a fist on the kitchen table as the pieces fell together. With everything new he learned about that man, the more his blood burned hot.

“So he would be in line to ascend,” Genesis finished for her, without emotion. “My guess is he would have preferred a son, as well, but he got you.”

Hana nodded. “I was always just a piece in his murderous game, even before I was born. He knew he would have an easier time putting me on the throne than himself, because he’s a foreigner and only related through his so-called _marriage_ to my mother. And because he’d systematically picked off every other Kazehawa heir and weeded out so much of the Kisaragi line, I would inherit the throne if Godo and Yuffie died. I’m not sure if he planned to keep me alive as a figurehead to cover his tracks or off me entirely and take the glory for himself, but either way, he would be emperor of Wutai.”

“It sounds like a really big stretch,” Zack said. “Can he really, _actually_ do that?”

“He _shouldn’t_ be able to. But my whole life I’ve seen him do things that should have been impossible. There’s no doubt he’s stark mad for even trying, but he’s clever and ruthless enough to make it work. It _is_ working. I don’t even want to know how he’s doing it but he is! He’s got a whole army of followers in Wutai, and he’s got so many in the royal courts wrapped around his finger! And now with this we’ve fallen right into his hands _again_!”

“Wait, Hana, slow down!” Zack said. He got up from the table and sat at her side. “He’s not here. You’re safe and free. There’s no need to overreact.”

“Don’t you see? _I am the Kazehawa heir now_. This is _exactly_ the place that he’s been scheming and murdering to put me in my entire life! And his plan worked! All he has to do is assassinate Godo and his daughter and I will ascend!”

“Except…” She slowed down, and then swallowed. “Except… _Sephiroth_.”

“That’s right! He’ll protect you!” Zack leapt on that solitary note of far-fetched optimism and prepared to stretch it as far as it would go. “He can protect Godo and off your father and then there’s nothing to worry ab—“

“Zack, you have the brains of a puppy,” Genesis said. His eyebrows were low, eyes simmering with fierce amusement. “Sephiroth throws a wrench in the entire equation, but Blackwell’s playing it right into his hand.”

“Yeah, he’ll screw up Blackwell’s plans—“

“Or help them.” Genesis said. “Angeal needs to teach you to _think_ , boy.”

“What are you two even talking about?”

“I miscalculated,” Hana whispered. “So very, _very_ badly.”

“Okay seriously, stop it and tell me what’s going on!” Zack directed his frustration at Genesis, who did not respond to the glare or his raised tone of voice with anything but cool indifference.

“Tell me, Zack, who inherits if Hana dies?”

“Her bastard father.”

“Even a month ago you would have been right. But _think_. Blackwell is not the only one to be a Kazehawa through marriage anymore.”

“What are you…?” The blood flooded out of Zack’s face. “No way,” he said. “…He…no… _Sephiroth_?!”

* * *

 

Genesis smirked. “He can be taught.”

“ _No way!_ That’s not even…!”

“It is possible,” Hana said. “If I die, Sephiroth has as much claim to the throne as my father does, though perhaps not as much support from the courts.”

“Wutai would take the man who just _demolished_ her as her _emperor_?”

“It would cause political upheaval, but they would be bound by law. It’s the same card my father is banking on – if he can do it, why not Sephiroth?”

“This is crazy,” Zack said and rose from the couch, beginning to pace. “Completely, insanely crazy.” He paced a while but stopped, characteristic grin back on his face. “Wait! No! That’s _good!_ If Sephiroth is emperor, Blackwell can’t be, and I don’t care if Blackwell is a SOLDIER, he can’t overpower Sephiroth.”

“You are an idiot,” Genesis said. “By that time, firstly, Hana will be dead, and secondly, Sephiroth is only going to make matters worse.”

“Come on, you’re just being dramatic--”

“Things will get worse. And very quickly,” Hana said. “Blackwell’s next target will be ShinRa, I’m certain of it. He’s going to bring the battle here.”

“Why? Isn’t he busy enough with Wutai?”

Genesis sent Zack a look. “Again, you are an idiot. If his lust for power truly knows no bounds, he will take advantage of Sephiroth’s connection to ShinRa. He’ll try to gain as much leverage here as he can and then take the Continents and Wutai at once.”

Zack stared at Genesis, jaw dropping twice before words could come out. “He can’t do that!”

“He barely has to,” Hana said. “The journalist who published that article has already practically done it for him.”


	25. A Boat for Two on Stormy Waters

Angeal had scoured every floor of ShinRa that he had access to in search of Sephiroth, storming through the building full of righteous rage. In the end it was a fruitless search; the General was nowhere to be found, and he wasn't answering his phone. It was only much later that he received a tip from a receptionist that Sephiroth had left headquarters to run errands in town.

Now, hours after their return, he finally knew where Sephiroth was. But before he had been able to storm the rest of Midgar, Genesis had called, and had told him quite the story.

Angeal lost the drive to throttle Sephiroth, but not the desire to find him.

He waited in the city plaza, knowing that Sephiroth would pass by it sooner or later to return to ShinRa. He was seated on the edge of the fountain, arms crossed and expression solemn enough to keep any onlookers from approaching. To keep his profile low, he was dressed in civilian clothes and wore a cap that hid his hair and shaded most of his face, but he still got some suspicious looks.

The risk of being found out died with the sunlight. The square was emptying quickly. Rush hour had come and gone, and now only a few people trickled through on their ways home for the evening. Now the square was as still as the winter’s night.

Angeal recognized his friend, even though the silver general was also dressed in casual clothes. In his thick hooded sweater and jeans slightly frayed at the knees, with his hair and eyes hidden from the public and plastic shopping bags in each hand, he blended in well with the city.

Angeal kept his arms crossed as he rose and began to walk to Sephiroth. His friend nodded in greeting well before they were within earshot of each other. Angeal sighed deeply. The words he had for Sephiroth had left him long ago.

“Good evening,” Sephiroth greeted curtly as Angeal fell into stride beside him.

“Is it?” Angeal asked. Sephiroth had no answer to that. “Errands?” Angeal tried again.

“Wood, and silk,” Sephiroth said. “Hana wanted bamboo but I couldn’t find it anywhere so she will have to make do. And gifts and traditional Wutaian food from Matsuko.”

“Wood? Silk?”

“She wants to carve a small sailboat and float it down a river in remembrance of her grandfather.” Sephiroth gave a shrug. “Where we’ll find a river is still an issue, but it will give her something meaningful to do for a little while, at least.”

“Oh,” Angeal said. In all the confusion about her identity, he had nearly forgotten that she had just lost a loved one. “How is she doing?”

“She is grieving. But all things considered, she is holding on remarkably well.”

“You didn’t leave her alone, did you?”

“No. Zack is with her.”

Angeal frowned. If their relationship was to grow, Sephiroth and Hana would need to go through this together. Sephiroth couldn’t keep running off and using Zack as a surrogate for meeting all of his wife’s emotional needs. He opened his mouth to tell him so, but he could not bring himself to say it, because he had been around Sephiroth long enough to see what others could not see carved into his eyes, the set of his jaw, and the very way he carried himself.

_Strain._

Angeal looked at the bags. He _had_ gone well out of his way to get her what she had asked for. For now, he would have to believe that Sephiroth was doing _his_ best, even if it wasn’t _the_ best.

“We know everything,” Angeal said softly. “Genesis, Zack, and I.”

“Hmm.”

“You aren’t upset?”

“You would either get the truth or the garbage the media is propagating.”

“You still left Hana to tell us. I know I speak for Genesis too when I say that we would have preferred to hear it from you.” It was an understatement. They had known there had been secrets, but to find out that there had been _that much_ had cut the both of them very deeply.

“Does it make a difference?” Sephiroth was glaring at him dangerously from the corners of his eyes.

Angeal shook his head. It wasn’t worth it to pick this fight; it wasn’t why he was here. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

But Sephiroth wasn’t stupid, and Angeal knew that he knew that the betrayal had hurt. Ever since Hana had come, the secrets and the lies had built up until now, the trust that the three of them had shared was on the line.

Their friendship was not the same anymore, and Angeal doubted it could ever return to what it was.

“Do you have something to say to me?” Sephiroth asked. His defensive anger was gone. He sounded tired, spent.

“I’m not sure,” Angeal said. “When we first landed I had a lot to say. We were both angry and hurt by what we’d learned. And now that we know the truth…words fall short.”

“It was never my intention to deceive you,” Sephiroth said. It was as close to an apology as Angeal would ever get. “I believed that the situation would resolve itself differently.”

The ShinRa building was within sight now. Angeal thought hard. If he wanted any answers, he had to get them now while he had Sephiroth’s attention.

And there was only one thing he _really_ wanted to know anymore. But he would have to approach the topic with extreme delicacy.

“I first started to worry when I saw that story in the newspaper. The journalist wrote that you were going to abandon Hana. I thought about how you’d gotten married at the drop of a hat, and I started to believe the journalist. I didn’t see what had gotten you into it in the first place, so I guess it made sense that you’d pull out now that things were getting hard if nothing was really keeping you there. And then Genesis told me the story, about how you’re some Wutaian heir…”

Angeal paused, and didn’t miss how Sephiroth’s lips curled unmistakably downward at the last two words. “And I assumed that _that_ could be why you snatched Hana up so fast…for that power.”

They walked another block in silence. By now, they were in the very shadow of the building. Angeal slowed his pace to try to buy as much time as he could before they arrived. To his surprise, Sephiroth allowed it.

“I see,” Sephiroth said softly.

“I was very angry and ready to give you the lecture of your life for using Hana like that, but I realized at some point that it can’t be true,” Angeal said. “You don’t even like the power ShinRa gives you, and you’ve tried many times to take _less_ responsibility – like when you gave up your seat at the board meetings. And you hate the limelight. There’s no way you would ever want to be royalty.”

Sephiroth did not reply, but Angeal felt his friend’s silent relief, and it was confirmation enough for Angeal that he finally understood. “You’ll have to forgive me for doubting you,” Angeal said. He felt every inch the traitor. Sephiroth’s trust was a frail, delicate thing that had been so hard to win.

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” Sephiroth said. “Given the circumstances, I would have assumed the same.”

“We know each other better than that,” Angeal said. _Or at least_ , he thought grimly, _we used to…_

“Look,” Angeal said. “You probably thought you could do it alone. Well, it’s pretty clear that the problem’s spiraled into way more than you bargained for. You’ve already unknowingly called in Zack to compensate for what you can’t handle. Genesis and I…we’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t lock us out again. And part of that means sharing the truth with us. The whole truth. Because once we know what’s going on, we can _help_ you.”

Sephiroth grabbed the handle of the front door to the ShinRa building as he took his ID badge from his pocket. It was a threat that his patience, and therefore Angeal’s time, was running out. “What are you dancing around, Angeal?” Sephiroth said. “You’ve been fishing for something this whole time.”

_All right_ , Angeal thought. _If he wants to be frank, I can do that_.

“Why did you marry Hana?”

Angeal could tell that Sephiroth had not been expecting that. Angeal waited, and waited, and waited some more. Sephiroth’s hand was frozen on the handle of the front door, keycard in hand ready to swipe.

And then Sephiroth _laughed_. It was bitter and sardonic, colder than the chill of the winter night surrounding them.

“You care more about our _relationship_ than the fact that soon Hana or I could be holding thrones against our will? That Wutai is in chaos and the Continent will soon join it? I thought you to be more sensible than that.”

“Everything began with your marriage. As much as you try to dismiss it, it’s the root of everything that has happened so far.”

Sephiroth ran his keycard through the scanner and the green light flashed as his request to enter was processed. He was done talking. Angeal had precious seconds left to convince him.

“We’re your friends, Sephiroth. Let us in,” Angeal said. “Let us help you. You don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment Angeal thought he had him. He reached out to grasp his friend’s shoulder in encouragement, but in that split second, Sephiroth’s mask of fiery steel returned, and all his defenses shot up, sky high and impenetrable.

“What do you want me to say?” Sephiroth’s voice was low and lethal.

“Anything! Help me understand!”

The light turned solid green and the door clicked as it unlocked.

Angeal’s time was up.

But he hadn’t lost entirely.

“In the beginning, it was only about us, what we wanted from each other.” Sephiroth hissed as he ripped the door open. “And that is why we are in this nightmare in the first place.”

Before Angeal’s hand could even brush his friend’s shoulder, the man was inside the building. Through the glass, he saw Sephiroth walk far too quickly away, taking the stairs two at a time.

Angeal let his forehead fall against the glass of the door with a solid _thunk_. _Patience,_ he reminded himself. _Dealing with Sephiroth requires **patience**_....

What had he learned? Certainly that Sephiroth was all too quickly nearing his wit’s end.

_…What we wanted from each other…_

So it was as he had feared: Sephiroth and Hana were essentially using each other. That’s what their marriage was about: a contract for mutual benefit. Hana had never admitted it outright, but her story made it clear enough that Sephiroth could _at least_ offer her freedom and protection from her father, a chance to live her own life. It made sense, and he could hardly fault her for it, knowing what little he did of her father and her childhood. Maybe there was more he didn’t know about, but that alone might have been enough to drive her to do what she did.

But that was only half of the answer. He was still left without a clue in the world of what Sephiroth could have possibly wanted from her.

* * *

 

“You are dismissed for the night, Fair,” was the first thing Sephiroth said as he came through the door.

“Okay,” Zack said, taking the cue to leave, _quickly_. He gathered his boots and his coat and waved once to Hana. “Call if you need me.”

Hana looked at the shopping bags Sephiroth held from the moment he entered, but waited to speak until Zack was gone. “Did you find it?”

“There was no bamboo,” Sephiroth said, setting the bags on the table in front of her. “But I got some good quality wood and silk for a small sail. Matsuko had incense, and she said she could help you get an _ihai_ if you wished. She offers her condolences and says to come by soon. In the meantime, she sent me with several traditional foods and trinkets for you.”

“I don’t have a _butsudan_ ,” she said softly. “But…maybe I’ll think about an _ihai_.” She took the wood block from the bag as Sephiroth opened his army-issue utility knife and set it on the table beside her. She took the knife and awkwardly began to saw a corner off. Her face furrowed in concentration and effort until she was rewarded with only the smallest _clunk_ as the tiny scrap of wood hit the table.

She sighed. “It’s harder than I thought.”

“Make it smaller,” Sephiroth said. He took the wood and the knife from her and sawed the block in half. He handed her the smaller chunk and that seemed to be enough to make the task manageable for her. She set to work with renewed determination.

Sephiroth went to his bathroom to retrieve a roll of gauze bandages, and he was just in time returning with them to hear her hiss _“ouch!_ ” He set the bandages beside her and left her to her work. Though it was clear that she had no experience with woodcarving, and she would likely gain many more cuts before she got the hang of it, he neither made any move to deter her nor gave her any further instruction.

Despite her numerous mishaps, she appreciated that he was letting her do this on her own.

Sephiroth emptied a container of Ma’s oden into a pot and turned the stove on, stirring it slowly with a wooden spoon to heat it. Soon their apartment was filled with the fishy aroma of the stew blended with the incense that Hana had lit in remembrance of her grandfather. Though Hana’s spirit was sorrowful, the room felt oddly at peace as she channeled her grief into action.

“Thank you,” Hana said. “I feel better now.”

Sephiroth turned off the stove as the contents of the pot began to steam. He ladled broth and chunks of fish and vegetables into a bowl, then set it beside her with a pair of chopsticks. She set aside the knife and held the warm bowl in both her hands. She took a sip of the steaming broth and her eyes closed as the stew soothed her body and soul.

“I promise I’m done crying, too. I think I’m back in control.”

“You are grieving. There is no need to be apologetic about your behavior.”

“But we can talk about what we need to do next, now.”

“We can spare this night.”

_Can we?_ Hana thought. The situation was getting pretty dire. She stopped drinking the broth for a moment to observe her husband. He was being very… _sympathetic_. She hadn’t expected this from him at all.

“Did you ever lose anyone you loved?” she asked quietly.

Sephiroth looked up at her with a blank face, but something dark was stirring behind his eyes. “Once,” he replied. “When I was very young.”

The answer surprised her, partially because he had given her an answer at all, but mostly because he had just admitted to having loved someone – even if indirectly. She set her bowl down on the table but kept her hands on it for its warmth. “Who?” she asked, somehow fearful of this new side of her husband.

Sephiroth hummed softly, sadly. “I suppose he was the closest thing to a father that I ever knew.” Now he was preparing rice. Steam rose softly from the rice cooker and in the stillness she heard the murmur of the water boiling inside the machine.

“I’m sorry,” Hana said.

“It was a long time ago.”

“But that doesn’t mean…” Hana trailed off, blushing furiously, purposely forgetting what she had been about to say. She went back to carving, vigorously, until another shallow cut on her finger slowed her pace.

Sephiroth was staring at nothing, silent as she resumed her carving. Every time she looked up at him he was still in the exact same position, eyes open but unseeing.

The rice cooker beeped and the sound pulled Sephiroth back to their apartment. He served her a bowl and again set it at her side. This time, before he could pull away again, she grabbed his hand, refusing to think about what she was doing.

The move surprised him. He raised his eyebrows, awaiting an explanation.

“If you want…you could…you know…for him….” Sheepishly, she slipped the unused half of the woodblock into his hand.

She kept her eyes only on her carving, breathing in the incense deeply. The fire in her face would not die. Though she had intended to keep her thoughts on her grandfather as she made him this small, final gift, she was finding that it was impossible.

But just past the woodblock that she was so intently focused on, in the background, she saw her husband as he took a place across from her at the table and with smooth, practiced strokes, began to carve.

* * *

 

She didn’t like being here. It was crowded and hot and everyone was intoxicated out of their minds. If she had been allowed to drown her worries in liquor as everyone else was doing, it might not have been so bad, but she needed to be sober if she was to keep her head.

She didn’t want to do this, but she’d been left with no choice.

She told herself this repeatedly as she waited. Her thumbs toyed with the focus wheel on her camera, flicking it in and out and in again, though the device was off. It was a strange habit, but one that kept her sane under pressure.

“Ah, there you are, my darling.” She heard him yell over the throbbing pulse of the music and the mash up of singing, yelling, and raw movement. He stuck out like a sore thumb – way overdressed in way too many clothes from far too long ago.

He approached her. How was it that she could hear the tap of his cane on the floor distinctly, even through the din surrounding them both?         

“And I must say,” he said with a disconcertingly sultry smirk, “you look simply _ravishing_ in that little red dress.”

She flushed the same color as her satin garment. It was the only thing she’d had, and it was too formal and professional against everyone else's spirited attire.

“You said you could help me,” she said.

“That I can,” he said with a twirl of his ebony cane. “I have exactly the story you are looking for.”

The hand that held her pen and pad of paper was shaking. As she moved to slide her camera back into the pouch hung over her shoulder, the pen dropped the floor.

And then, somehow, with a flick of his cane, it was in his hand, offered to her with a brilliant flourish of lace. His smile was dazzlingly white against the hazy hues around him.

“My dear, are you _frightened_? You have nothing to fear. We both want the same things, yes?” 

“No! I mean…yes. I just want the truth. It’s my job.”

“But _truth_ can be woven many ways by a skillful pen, can it not?” And then the pen danced in his hand, brilliant and fast and deadly as it parried, and struck, and felled an invisible foe. She could only watch the dance, transfixed by the art and skill through which an ordinary pen was turned into a masterful blade.

“Your words are _power_ , darling. You are a master of your craft. Your skills are wasted at ShinRa.” His voice was low and earnest, sweet and thick as honey. He reached one hand forward, gloved in brilliant white fabric softer than any flower petal, and stroked her bottom lip ever so gently with the barest tip of his thumb.

She made a grab for her pen and jerked away, breathless, terrified. _Who **is** this guy…?_

“You tender little blossom,” he said. “So naïve. Too young even to understand the gravity of the terrible work that your heart calls you to do – a slave to powers you are too innocent to know and too delicate to fully, truly wield.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I just want to write the story.”

He chucked, a sound more dark and terrifying than his honeyed speech. “I do not mind that you lie to me, for I can see the truth behind your words. I care only that you have so convincingly blinded yourself. You will never be great that way.”

She had to move before her last stores of courage deserted her. “I need the story,” she said, hoping her face looked assertive and professional.

“Oh yes, I’ll gladly give it. I’d be honored to have my sad little tale published by so great a writer. But in return, there is information that I seek as well.”

His eyes were orbs of fiery darkness. How could blackness glow? It was impossible, and yet she was enveloped in the warped, twisted light of the shadows.

“Of course. As promised, I have your daughter’s location within the ShinRa building, her security passcode, and the code for the locks in her home.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her camera’s pouch. “And the blueprint for her apartment, with the layout of its waterways, electrical lines, and air vents.”

He flashed that dazzling smile again, snatching the paper and folding it away in his coat. “Splendid! Then, shall we begin?”

She readied her pen.

But his hand wound around her body, two fingers pinching the pin that held her hair in its tight bun. He lifted it, and shimmering golden waves spilled unrestrained down her shoulders. Her hands rushed to gather the cascade again but her wrists were seized and held in his iron grip.

“If this plan is going to work, dearest Milda,” he whispered in her ear, “you are going to have to break _all_ the restraints that bind you, especially the ones that tie your heart to that elusive silver general.”

“You swore you would not touch him!” she shrieked, panic setting in. “ _You swore it!_ ”

“And I keep my word, darling,” he purred, running his fingers through her long, blonde hair. “Have no fear. But a bound little captive will not win his attention. If you want him, you will have to show him the glorious woman you truly are, the one you’ve kept tucked away in the dark out of fear of her power. To break her free, there will be pain for the both of you. It is the price of deliverance, of triumph, and it is the only way to him.”

She feared that pain. She feared it very much. But, as he said, there was no other way.

She forced herself to nod. “I know,” she said.

And that grin again. Every time she saw it, she felt something in her die.

“Now then, we’ll begin with the story. You mustn’t fear the impact it will have on your dearest silver one. Remember that I have sworn it: in the end, he will be yours.”

Milda felt like she was making a pact with the devil, and bargaining with the soul of the only one she had ever loved.

But she was far too far in to stop now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Butsudan and Iahi - A small shrine kept in homes or shrines. They vary in size but a cabinet is a pretty good comparison. A variety of religious items are kept inside, and offerings can be placed before it. An ihai is a tablet, placed in or beside the butsudan, with the name of deceased ancestors.


	26. The Company's Vengeance

ShinRa now knew that they had a new bargaining chip in their negotiations with Wutai, conveniently living within corporate headquarters. Sephiroth had warned her that ShinRa would waste no time in trying to utilize her, but it was an unpleasant surprise that the siege began the following morning, and it put Hana in a decidedly foul mood.

It started off slow and innocent, but that didn’t fool her for a moment.

When Sephiroth left the apartment that morning, he’d called a warning inside to her to watch her step. It was a good thing he had. Groggy and disoriented as she had been from a night of restless sleep, she had almost tripped over the garden in the hallway.

_Flowers_ , and lots of them. The expense must have been staggering. Everyone knew that no flowers grew in Midgar; they all had to be imported. There were several arrangements, some as classic as roses and baby’s breath but one or two that looked distinctly tropical, perhaps from as far away as Mideel, and one was a wisteria bonsai that made her ache for both her homeland and the summer sunshine.

She carefully moved them inside. Yes, it was a trap, but it was a beautiful one, and she would enjoy the flowers for what they were. They would only last a little while, but she would have a few days of bright color and sweet scents in her home, and that put her in a slightly better mood as she snipped the cards off and tossed them in the garbage without so much as a glance at the recipients.

She already knew who had sent them.

Only an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Through the peephole she saw an unfamiliar woman bedecked with almost more jewels than clothes. “Can I help you?” Hana asked through the intercom, though in truth that was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Oh dearheart, you sound absolutely dreadful! My name’s Raye; I’m the President’s fiancée. I won’t keep you long, I just simply had to make sure you were all right, and give these to you.” She held a bright pink package up to the keyhole for her to see. The sympathy in her voice was about as fake as the rest of her painted, plastic face, and Hana immediately wanted nothing to do with her. But she had a part to play too – and she supposed that made her somewhat of a hypocrite. She opened the door, keeping her eyes downcast and shy and her hands clenched tightly.

The moment Hana had opened the door wide enough, she found herself in a tight hug. “Uh…!” She had not expected that and was extremely uncomfortable, but the woman did not let go.

“Sweetie, it’s going to be all right! I lost my Schnookums once and it was so dreadful I thought I would die myself, but life really moves on, okay? You mustn’t lose hope!” Raye laid it on _way_ too thick. Hana thought that while the President had probably sent her on this errand in the first place, even he would have disapproved of this level of theatrics.

Hana did all she could: forced a small smile and nodded – politely, she hoped – until it was over and Raye was gone. The package was expensive chocolates, which she didn’t even like, and a jeweled necklace, which was too gaudy for her tastes. She did, however, start to wonder if the company was rearranging their budget just for her sake.

She ate lunch in Sephiroth’s office to find that he had been similarly assaulted by the generosity of the company.

Her first clue had been his hair. Since she had met him, not a single strand had ever been out of place in the immaculate platinum flow. Now, he had two large tangles in his hair – one on each side of his head. Had he been tugging on it? The expression on his face told her that she probably couldn’t get away with asking. All the same, for the sake of his dignity, she silently pointed to at least make him aware of it. He raised his fingers to feel, then closed his eyes and sighed very, _very_ deeply as he realized. So he hadn’t known. She smiled sheepishly to try to brush it off but she doubted anything would sweeten his mood now, especially because, as far as she could see, he didn’t have a brush handy.

“Teriyaki,” Hana said, pulling a bento box out of a plastic bag. “Nice, friendly food.”

“Thank you, Hana.” She knew that the weariness and frustration in his voice were not directed at her and took no offense from them. He took the lunch, clearing away a stack of papers to make room for it. During all this, he could barely look at her and continued to furiously fill out the forms on his desk, but he slid a box her way.

“A cell phone,” he explained, not even a hitch in his fluid handwriting as he spoke. “It’s provided by the company so it’s probably tapped, so keep from saying anything sensitive. Keep it on you at all times.”

“Okay,” she said. She had no experience with phones, but Sephiroth had seemed to account for that. On the touch-screen, there were only two buttons labeled “Call” and “Crisis”. She pressed “call” experimentally, and four names came up: Sephiroth, Zack, Angeal, and Genesis. She nodded. She doubted she would need it for much else besides to call these four men.

“If you are in immediate danger,” Sephiroth said, “the ‘crisis’ button will alert me whether or not my phone is set to silent, as well as send a signal to the Turks and general security. If I do not respond within sixty seconds, Zack, Genesis, and Angeal will automatically get the signal too, no matter where they are or what they are doing.”

“Okay.” It was well programmed for her needs, and just holding it in her hands was very reassuring. She pressed “call” and found that she’d missed a fifth name because she hadn’t scrolled down. Her face furrowed. “Who’s Shotgun and why is he in my phone?”

“ _She_ ,” Sephiroth said, finally turning his attention from the forms to his lunch, “is your permanent arms instructor.”

“A Turk?”

“Yes. And extremely capable with a gun. I’m told that she’s nearly unrivaled in her skill, even as new as she is to the Turks.”

“Oh.” She knew better than to try to argue at this point. Did the fact that her teacher was a woman make her feel any better? She couldn’t decide. “And I’m training…?”

“You’ll begin again at two this afternoon. She will pick you up at the apartment.”

_So soon?_ she wanted to complain. But she couldn’t. With all that was going on now, a constant battle on at least two fronts, it was suicide to think that she could completely rely on Sephiroth’s protection at all times.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

He was eating with one hand and typing on his laptop with the other. She knew that he was only working to clean up the mess she’d gotten them both into, but it hurt a little that he didn’t have even the time to spare a glance for her.

“I wanted to go into town with Zack today,” she said.

Sephiroth looked up from his papers and his lunch and his laptop screen and, for the first time since she’d entered, looked at her. He examined her very carefully, staring long and hard at her face, reading her. The move confused her. Had she said something wrong?

“…After training?” she added, but even that didn’t seem to be what he had been looking for.

Eventually he nodded and waved a hand dismissively, returning to his lunch and his laptop. “That is fine. Take care and have a good time. I will make sure Fair’s schedule is cleared.”

She felt guilty that she’d just given him one more thing to do. “Thank you,” she said instead of apologizing. His expression soured in response to something that came up on his laptop screen. “Is ShinRa getting to you, too?”

He gave her a half-glance, his typing uninterrupted. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

_That’s not what I asked…_

“Okay,” she said, getting to her feet and picking up her plastic bag. “I have bento boxes for Genesis and Angeal too. For helping us so much.”

“Hmm. They’ll appreciate that. Genesis, especially, is always complaining about the cafeteria food.”

“Is there something you want me to get in town?”

“No. Cover up well, but take your time and enjoy yourself. I will likely not be home until late.”

“Okay…goodbye.”

“Have a good day.”

She was annoyed by how busy he had been, but she tried to remain optimistic by telling herself that at least ShinRa hadn’t made any seriously drastic moves against them yet.

What she didn’t know was that they had.

* * *

 

Sephiroth had tried to shake the President all day. When he’d come in early the email was waiting for him.

_Sephiroth,_

_I am sorry to hear of your wife’s loss. With the war ending on top of this tragedy, she must be very distraught. Please reassure her that ShinRa will be more than happy to provide anything that she stands in need of. My fiancée has expressed concern that Hana has no friends, especially during these trying times, and wants to reach out to her. We would be honored if you would join us and the heads of departments for a modest banquet in her honor so that we can give your bride the proper welcome to ShinRa that has been sadly neglected until now._

_Cordially,_

_President ShinRa_

Sephiroth spent a lot of time drafting his reply. He knew full well that if he was sucked into this there wouldn’t be so much wining and dining as there would be gilded threats and manipulation. _Modest banquet_? ShinRa didn’t know the meaning of the word “modest”. And that all the heads of departments would be there just reaffirmed his suspicion that he would be subject to a gang attack.

_President ShinRa,_

_I thank you and your fiancée for your concerns on our behalf. Hana is especially grateful for the flowers that were sent to her this morning. However, I must decline your generous offer for tonight. With the war ending there is much I need to attend to, and Hana has expressed a desire to grieve alone for the time being. I fear that such a large social event would only make her more anxious and uncomfortable. I will inform you if she has need of any assistance from the company._

_Respectfully,_

_Sephiroth_

He had left his office then to pick up the day’s paperwork from the mailboxes. To his surprise, he had only a small handful of forms in his box. On top was a memo, handwritten on company stationery in very red ink:

_My soul, CORRUPTED BY VENGEANCE HATH ENDURED TORMENT to find the end of the journey in my own salvation **AND YOUR ETERNAL SLUMBER**. –“Respectfully”, Genesis_

Sephiroth raised his eyebrows. Genesis was threatening to kill him now? Putting the ridiculousness of the suggestion aside, had he done something? The poetry he was used to, but quotes around his closing line, the red ink, and the liberal use of capitalization and font enhancements were particularly suspicious.

The President’s response was waiting in his email inbox when he returned to his office.

_Sephiroth,_

_Thank you for your diligence in attending to the remaining matters of the war, but I have taken the liberty of re-assigning your workload to your lieutenant general so that you will be free to relax with us tonight. You are the hero of this war and the company owes you a great debt. come and dine in the luxury you and your bride deserve. I will expect you and your wife at six in the ballrooms._

_–President ShinRa_

It did explain Genesis’s note.

Sephiroth hated fighting with words. It was stupid and useless. They both knew what the other was up to, so why dance around it? Although, he had to admit, the President seemed to be tiring of it as well, as his last sentence had practically been an order.

 He weighed his options and decided that he would simply not show up. He was not yet in a position to meet them on equal terms. He could find an excuse later – to go now was suicide. He needed more time to prepare for the onslaught.

He wasn’t bothered that the company had taken away his workload; he had enough to do regardless. It just meant he had to print his own forms.

He gave Genesis several hours to calm down. It helped that Hana had put a bento outside his office door for his dinner. He slipped the forms he needed Genesis to sign under the meal, hoping the food would sweeten him up a little. It must have worked to at least some level, as the forms were signed and sealed in his box two hours later, though with another note that read, “The fates are cruel, no honor remains,” stapled to the packet. He’d apologize later.

There was a message on his answering machine from the President reminding him of the banquet in an hour. He deleted it without even listening to it all the way through. Soon after, a delivery boy from the mall brought him a package from Hana. Inside was a brush and a simple hand mirror – nothing fancy, but plenty effective. He appreciated the thought and felt much better knowing that the rats’ nests in his hair were finally managed. He stored both tools in his desk drawer in case a similar incident happened in the future.

At six-thirty, another errand boy came by with a pot of coffee, which Sephiroth gratefully accepted. He downed one cup right there and then asked for a refill to get him through the rest of the day. He had expected the caffeine to speed up the process, but instead, strangely, time seemed only to drag slower. Every glance at the clock only frustrated him more until he threw it across the room to keep it from agitating him any further.

Eventually, his work was done. He added his final signature, and then his seals in ink on the forms and in wax on the envelope. He looked at the thick packet with satisfaction. Normally such a procedure would take a month, and he had tackled it in a day. Granted, he had cut corners, but the only ones who had the authority to challenge him on it were also the ones who would most easily be cowed into submission with a few well-placed glares and some off-handed comments as icing on the cake.

It was one of the few perks of his position. When he needed power, it was always there.

He knew he had pushed himself too hard. He was drowsy and dizzy and his thoughts were mush. His limbs were heavy and colored circles obstructed his vision. Had he eaten? Maybe he had skipped lunch again.

Sleep. It would fix everything. He forced himself to his feet and left. Something crunched beneath his boot on his way out but he didn’t care enough to even look at what it had been.

He saw Genesis just farther down the hallway, exiting the training room with his sword still drawn and a thin sheen of sweat on his face. Maybe the redhead had said something to him, but Sephiroth couldn’t remember. Regardless, he was surprised to see him. “Genesis? What are you doing out so late?”

“It’s not even eight, Sephiroth,” Genesis said. “And you have half a clock on your shoe.”

“Oh,” Sephiroth said, looking down at his boot. As Genesis had said, the toe of his foot was haphazardly decorated with bits of glass and a minute hand, and when he raised his foot it dinged like the alarm bell. “How…didat get there? It was on my besk—desk…”

“Were you dancing on your _besk_?” Genesis asked with a sneer. “Or, more logically, did your clock find its way to the floor?”

Sephiroth stared at his shoe. He should have been alarmed by how dumbfounded he was, but he didn’t have the capacity to move past his confusion. “I don’t bremember.”

Genesis sighed. “So I’m not going to hound you about the terrible injustice you’ve done me today because you look like death warmed over, but don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“Why isthe block…?”

“Stop worrying about the _clock_ ,” Genesis corrected angrily, “and get to bed before you hurt yourself.”  

Sephiroth said something but it was utterly incoherent. Genesis sighed as he watched his friend go. He was really going to work himself to death one of these days.

And he’d left the door to his office open.

He _really_ must have had a bad day to overlook something like that.

Genesis peeked into his friend’s office for good measure. As he had assumed, the sad remains of Sephiroth’s desk clock were on the floor. Even more surprisingly, his day’s work was still on his desk.

“I thought you wanted these filed ASAP,” Genesis muttered, picking up the package. It didn’t make sense. He worked the whole day at suicide pace on this, and now he was leaving it where it would do no good? He sighed. Sephiroth looked like he’d had a rough day, Genesis admitted. Maybe _almost_ as rough as his own with all that paperwork dumped on him like that…

All the same, he made sure to lock up Sephiroth’s office and took the package to the Lazard’s mailbox.

The thought briefly crossed his mind that maybe Sephiroth hadn’t even been in a state to make it home.

He shook his head and shouldered his sword. Sephiroth was a big boy. He could walk himself home.

* * *

 

_The world was really blurry but he was pretty sure he’d made it to the elevator. It was much brighter than usual and…smaller? And why wasn’t it going anywhere? Though he didn’t exactly have the confidence to say for sure, he was fairly certain that he was supposed to be going_ up _instead of rocking side to side. What kind of elevator was this? And what was that weird smell?_

_Voices, finally. Someone had found him. He couldn’t make out features except for dark hair and glasses that reflected light into his eyes uncomfortably._

_"I specifically instructed_ one cup _. What kind of imbecile can’t properly count to one? Now that he’s had enough to knock the Midgar Zolom stupid, we’ll have to drag him down.”_

_Something grabbed his arm, but he could barely tell. His muscles had stopped doing as they had been told a while ago and at some point they’d started losing sensation too. Something deep, deep in his sluggish mind was screaming that something was wrong, but the fog was so thick that he could barely hear it, much less understand it._

_The person was now right in his face, so close that their noses were almost touching and he could feel their hot, rancid breath on his face. He still couldn’t make out their features. “Happy to see me, Sephiroth?”_

_Something akin to instinct sent one last, desperate spasm of alarm through his body, but the haze swallowed it entirely somewhere along his spine. In the wake of the panic was blue, fluid calm. Fight? No! Preposterous! He was warm. He was calm. He was…happy? But he was also tired…so very, very tired…_

_He wasn’t conscious to feel his body hit the floor._

* * *

 

It was four in the morning when Genesis was jarred awake by an explosion of sound. He sat upright in bed and his sword was in his hand almost before he could open his eyes.

But the noise wasn’t coming from the building’s alarm systems; it was coming from his phone. The screen was flashing red as the device screamed. 

His mind didn’t have time to piece the situation together. He had enough instinct, gained in the war, to clothe and arm himself in the darkness, his brain waking much more lazily than his body, which was charging toward the threat before he had time to register that he, himself, was actually awake.

_Hana_. It was her crisis call. He’d only been told about it the previous morning in an email but there was no mistaking it. That initial realization gave him the motive and the direction he needed. He bolted for the stairs. She was only three floors away and the elevators would not even be there in the time he could make it to her apartment on foot.

Pieces came along the way. He’d gotten the call, which meant Angeal and Zack would be on the way too, and maybe even some Turks if he was particularly unlucky.

It also meant that Sephiroth had neglected to answer her call.

Or – and the realization stopped him in his tracks – Sephiroth had been _unable_ to answer her call. 

The way Sephiroth had been acting when he saw him in the hallway…

Genesis swore loudly, his hissed curses echoing in the stairway.

He reached for his phone and dialed Hana as he sprinted. She picked up immediately.

“Genesis I’m so sorry I just didn’t know what to do!”

“What happened?” his voice was level. After all, he was pretty sure he already knew what was actually happening.

“I-I—“

“ _What. Happened._ ” He wasn’t angry, but he was forceful and deliberate.

“N-nothing! Not…not to me! It’s not me! It…I-It’s _Sephiroth_ …!”


	27. The Fires of a New Birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Sephiroth experiences the aftereffects of a trip to Hojo's lab - which include physical (and some psychological) trauma, egregious amounts of pain, blood, and overall grotesque-ness. A simple, trigger-free chapter summary is provided at the end so you won't miss anything (scroll all the way down). This is the worst it gets - and someone please tell me if I should up the rating or something.

The apartment reeked of sweat and mako and bile. The acrid stench made Genesis’s stomach roil. “Hana?” he called from the entryway, lowering his hand from his mouth and nose once the initial wave of smell subsided.

“In here.” Her voice was tiny and strained and had come from the hallway. He had hardly needed any answer to find her; there was a clear path of drops and streams of the nacreous green fluid leading past the kitchen and toward Sephiroth’s bedroom.

His friend was face down on the floor of the hall. His hair was splayed in slick, slimy cords, tinted with the unnatural sheen of mako. His entire body was seeped in it, everything from the leather of his clothes to his translucent skin giving off a sickly, green glow. 

Hana was at his head, looking up at Genesis with impossibly wide, panicked eyes. Her face was drawn and bloodless. Her hands were half-extended to her husband, torn as to whether or not she could safely touch him.

“Sweet goddess,” Genesis hissed at the scene. “Please tell me he is soundly unconscious.”

“I’m not sure….”

Sephiroth’s body jerked suddenly and violently, his breath a harsh hiss forced through clenched teeth. His bitten-back scream sounded like a death rattle as it tried to escape his lips through the fluids in his throat. He choked, and from his mouth spilled a mixture of blood and bile and lots and lots of mako.

Hana jumped back in alarm. The mako glow was bright.

“Don’t touch him, at least until I can get the mako off,” Genesis said. “Where’s the shower?”

Hana jumped to her feet and pushed open the door on the left. Genesis made sure no skin was exposed between his gloves and the sleeves of his coat before he touched Sephiroth, still feeling the burn of mako through the leather. Genesis grunted the discomfort aside and hoisted his friend up. In the background, he heard Hana start the water.

Footsteps thundered closer and closer until Angeal, breathless from his sprint, tore into the apartment. “Oh…” Angeal breathed. One look at Sephiroth was all it took for the two friends to understand.

“Don’t just stand there, help me get him showered.”

“Right.”

Each of the men took a shoulder and between the two of them, they carried Sephiroth’s limp body to the shower, tossing him in clothes and all. Hana had brought a folding metal chair, which they draped his body on, Genesis holding the comatose man upright by the back of his neck. The walk-in shower was big enough for all of them, but only just. Angeal detached the showerhead from the wall and began hosing Sephiroth down, careful to keep the flowing mako away from any of his or Genesis's exposed skin. The water on the floor of the shower ran away in rivers of toxic green.

“He’s out of it, all right,” Angeal said. Sephiroth didn’t respond to the water at all, so much so that Genesis had to manually reposition his head to keep him from inhaling the shower water and drowning any more than he already was. Most of him was relatively easily cleaned, but the biggest task by far was dousing his head and scalp a thousand times so they could get all of the mako out of his heavy masses of wet hair.

“Is that good?” Hana asked.

“It’s the best thing he’s got going for him in this situation,” Genesis said. “This would be a _lot_ harder if we had to deal with-“

“He’ll be all right, Hana,” Angeal said, cutting across Genesis too strongly. He pulled the silver pauldrons off Sephiroth’s shoulders and tossed them aside. He started then on the buckles on Sephiroth’s coat, Genesis helping with the one hand he wasn’t using to support the man. “Can you get him some dry clothes?” Angeal asked Hana.

Hana turned eagerly but stopped. The door to Sephiroth’s room was closed, and she stared at it.

“Given the situation,” Genesis said irritably as he lifted one of Sephiroth’s arms up, “I really don’t think he’d mind if you went in his room to get him a change of clothes.”

When that sent Hana on her way with a start, Angeal turned the shower nozzle to spray Genesis right in the face. “Hey!” the redhead sputtered.

“Watch your tone.” Angeal said, and he meant business.

When she came back they had peeled Sephiroth’s coat, boots, and socks off his body and the water wasn’t running away quite as bright anymore. One look at her husband, bare chested, made her cheeks flame. She turned her head to the side and shielded her eyes with one hand. “Um…pajamas…and some extra clothes because you’re getting wet too…”

“Thank you, Hana. Towels?” Angeal asked.

“Yes, I’ll get them.”

Sephiroth was choking softly again. Genesis grunted, beating Sephiroth’s back with his fists to try to help his friend expel the liquid. “How in Gaia did it get in his _lungs_? There’s breathing tubes in those tanks to keep this from happening.”

“I don’t want to know,” Angeal said.

Genesis growled and continued to hit his back. “Cough it up, Seph…”

Hana set a tall stack of folded towels just outside the shower and then scurried out with a squeak, shutting the door behind her, when she found that they were working Sephiroth out of the rest of his uniform. “Ha!” Genesis scoffed. “Worried about _privacy_ in a time like this.”

At one point, Zack had awkwardly peeked into the bathroom. “Hey…I’m here,” he said.

“Take care of Hana,” Angeal said, not pausing his work. He’d lost count of how many times they’d rinsed Sephiroth’s hair, but the water was still running away green. Genesis murmured something about just cutting it off more than once.

“Yes, sir.” Zack closed the door behind him, very happy to be uninvolved with the cleaning up of his comatose commanding officer.

It was another arduous chore to dry and re-dress him, as limp as he was, and a whole other task besides to figure out how to wind up all his sopping hair in a towel. But once it was done Sephiroth looked somewhat better, if only because he wasn’t glowing green anymore. The two men took off their own boots and gloves and left them in the shower to contain the mako residue, and then Angeal left the room. He hadn’t gotten nearly as wet as Genesis had because he had been the one wielding the nozzle, and he left the redhead to change into the spare clothes Hana had brought.

“Hana,” Angeal called. She jumped up from where she’d been sitting on the couch. Angeal shook his head. “Relax, he’s going to be all right. I know it looks bad, but we’re SOLDIERs. He can handle the mako, I promise. You just need to stay away from it, or it’ll make you sick. Don’t touch the shower or any of the clothes we’ve left in there and stay away from the spills on the floor. That means no cleaning.”

“Okay,” she said. “But…Sephiroth?”

“Angeal,” Genesis called from the bathroom. His voice sounded very strange. “I don’t think we’re done yet.”

* * *

 

“Stay with Zack,” Angeal said. Hana made as if to follow but Zack held her back.

“Come on,” Zack said, taking the cue from his mentor and trying to pull her toward the kitchen. “Let’s make him a broth or something. He’s bound to be hungry after all this.” It was an absolute lie and they both knew it.

She stared at Angeal all the way until he shut the bathroom door behind him.

“Is it the fluid in his lungs?” Angeal asked. Genesis’s eyes were wide with horror, and though he held Sephiroth up by a fistful of his hair as the man coughed up more mako into a trash can, he held him as far away from himself as he could.

“There’s something **_in_** his back,” Genesis hissed. “Something under the skin. And it’s… _moving_.”

Angeal didn’t have time to be as disgusted or horrified as Genesis was. He quickly removed the shirt from his silver-haired friend, pushed his hair out of the way, and looked for himself.

There was nothing.

“I’m not making it up, there was something…!”

Angeal squinted his eyes and gingerly placed a hand on Sephiroth’s back. There was no response. Slowly, he moved his fingers across the alabaster surface, and though both men waited with baited breath, nothing happened.

Until Angeal’s palm ghosted over his shoulder.

Sephiroth howled and his body reeled with a tremor that left him writhing, wracked with pain, for many long seconds. His thrashing was so violent that he tore himself from Genesis’s grasp and hit the tile floor with a harsh _thud_.

Angeal hadn’t missed the distinct ripple in the skin and muscle across his friend’s right shoulder blade, now thinly veiled under silver strings of wet hair.

Both men stared at Sephiroth’s back, waiting to see something that would disprove what they had both just seen. There was nothing except Sephiroth laboring for breath, a terrible, low moan of pain reverberating unreleased in his chest.

“What do we do?”

Angeal had no answer.

“Angeal, what’s going on?” Hana cried, banging on the door. “What’s happening?”

“What did that bastard _do_ to him…?” Genesis said, still staring disbelievingly.

“I’m calling for help!”

“Don’t!" Angeal yelled. "Zack, stop her!”

She may have been determined, but Zack had been trained to respond to orders - _fast_. And though Hana was yelling and hitting Zack, demanding to be released, he seemed to be doing his job of restraining her and the two men in the bathroom took the sounds of their continued struggle as evidence that, for the time being, no one had been called.

“Does she not understand _anything_ that’s going on?” Genesis asked, though the answer was clear enough. “You’d think it’d be something that he’d at least mention before they got married.”

“Apparently not,” Angeal said, looking at Sephiroth, who was still splayed helpless on the floor.

“So am I going to tell her or are you?”

“Get him to the bed,” Angeal said. “At least he’ll be more comfortable there. I’ll take care of Hana.” And he left the bathroom before Genesis could protest.

“It’s all right,” Angeal said to Hana, who was still restrained in Zack’s grip. Her face said she didn’t buy it in the slightest. “He’s just having a rough time getting the mako out of his system.” It wasn’t false.

She was angry, and she was shaking. “Why can’t I call the paramedics?”

“Because at best they won’t know what to do with him and at worst-“

“Genesis!” Angeal yelled. “Just get him in the bed!”

“You’re not doing her any favors by sugar coating it,” was his friend’s retort, but the redhead went back to work.

“What’s going on?” Hana screamed at him, thrashing against Zack. “Tell me what’s happening to him!”

“Listen to me, Hana.” Angeal tried to tone his voice down and sound much calmer than he actually felt. “SOLDIERs are different. The mako makes our bodies operate differently. Regular doctors aren’t trained to handle us. The medical wing couldn’t do anything for him that we haven’t already done. Now that the mako’s gone, we just need to make him comfortable until this passes, all right?”

“Then who’s over health care for SOLDIERs? There has to be _somebody_! The science department?” She made a grab for her phone, which Zack held at arm’s length while still trying to restrain her with the other arm.

“That’s exactly where he just came from, Hana!” Genesis yelled from the bedroom. “And I’m no mind-reader but he’s probably not too enthusiastic about going back any time soon. Now stop trying to drag more people into this mess and let us handle it!”

Hana stopped grappling for the phone. She stopped fighting and then she stopped moving all together. Her hands fell to her sides and she stood up straight, blinking slowly. “The science department…did _this_ …to him?”

Angeal hardly needed to, but nodded slowly.

“…On _purpose_?”

Angeal sighed. Genesis came in, task completed, and his face was grave. “Sephiroth’s never mentioned anything to you about Hojo? About… _that_?” Genesis waved toward Sephiroth’s bedroom in lieu of words.

“No. Nothing.” Her voice was too calm and quiet, too blank. “Does it happen…often?” They knew she was afraid of the answer.

Angeal and Genesis looked at each other. “Not infrequently,” Angeal admitted quietly.

Zack, too, stood in uncharacteristic silence. He let Hana go, and she made no move to take back her phone.

“Why wouldn’t he say something?”

“It’s not something he likes to talk about,” Genesis said. “Angeal and I only found out on accident a few months ago.”

“How long have they been…? Why wouldn’t he just…?”

Genesis scoffed. “ _You_ tell her,” he said to Angeal. “Zack, let’s give them some privacy. I know someone who might have something to help.”

“Uh…uh, yeah…” Zack touched Hana gently on her arm once, and then left to follow Genesis.

* * *

 

Sephiroth started coughing again in the next room. Hana rushed to the kitchen and pulled out a large bowl, setting it in the sink and filling it with cool water while she quickly pulled out multiple hand towels. She took the cloths and the bowl into his room without paying any attention to Angeal.

Angeal watched her from the doorway in silence. Sephiroth was unconscious in the sheets, a thin layer of sweat making him shine in the lamplight, face flushed red with fever as his body tried to burn away the remaining mako in his system. She crawled up into the large bed, kneeling beside him, looking small and shy next to him and in the expanses of crimson sheets. Whispering something that Angeal couldn’t hear, she soaked one of the rags in the water and then slowly pressed it to his bare chest.

A small sigh escaped her husband’s lips as she washed him with the water - soothing his chest, his cheeks, his brow, his lips - and though he still trembled and his chest heaved in his efforts to breathe, his back lost its pained arch and he fell into the sheets, surrendering to his exhaustion under the gentle coaxing of his wife’s touch.

It was something Angeal knew Sephiroth never would have permitted had he been conscious. But his body gave him away - he desperately needed the touch of healing hands.

“How long?” Hana asked quietly, dipping the rag to cool it again before resuming her slow strokes. “How long have they been doing this to him?”

“He’s never said,” Angeal answered. “But…he was raised in ShinRa all his life. In the science department. Under Professor Hojo’s care.”

He heard her breath catch as she drew her own conclusion.

Sephiroth convulsed in a fit of coughing and the two mobilized again. Angeal helped her roll him on his side until he had expelled more mako from his mouth. Angeal carefully mopped it up, pushing Hana’s eager hands away to keep her from exposing herself to the toxin, and then went to put the ruined rag with the other tainted clothes in the shower.

When he came back, she was gathering water in her cupped hands, dribbling it into her husband’s mouth and then tilting his head to the side so it could escape into a small bowl. When she had rinsed his mouth as best she could, she went back to washing him with the cool water. While he was on his side, she rinsed his back too before gently easing him into the sheets again. She paid no attention to the mess except to keep her hands away from the caustic mako.

“Why would he allow this?” she asked. “Why not…run?”

Angeal gripped her shoulder firmly. “That’s something he needs to tell you himself.”

He left her to switch the ceiling fan on. “He looks much better now. I think he’s through the worst of it.”

“Thank you for your help,” Hana said. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to do and I panicked. I’m sorry to get you out of bed like this.”

“No,” Angeal said. “We're glad to help. Even Genesis, though I know he doesn't sound it. He gets ornery and snappy in a pinch. It's a front to hide how upset he really is." He watched her hands continue their healing work for several moments. "I’m only sorry that you had to find out like this.”

Hana hummed, closing her eyes for a moment. She was exhausted - they all were.

“You should rest,” Angeal said.

“The tea,” she said, disregarding his remark and continuing her work. “I brewed some. It’s on the stove. Can you pour a cup and melt an ice cube in it so it’s not too hot for him? It will get the taste out of his mouth, at least.”

“All right.” Angeal dimmed the lights and closed the door behind him to give the two of them some privacy. He hoped that, despite what had happened, they both could get some rest.

* * *

 

Angeal took his time with the tea, firstly because he wasn’t sure it was what Sephiroth needed (though he supposed it could hardly hurt either), but mostly, he wanted to give Hana time to settle. He couldn’t believe that this was the first she’d heard about the matter, and he couldn’t believe Sephiroth’s selfishness in withholding that from her. To save face, he had put her through a nightmare, witnessing his pain but not having the faintest idea of what could bring the strongest man on the planet to suffer so.

It was cruel.

Not for the first time, Angeal cursed Sephiroth’s pride. He always thought he could suffer in the dark alone without his troubles impacting anyone else. He was usually wrong.

Angeal shook his head to clear away his thoughts and began to pour the tea as Hana requested. The bedroom was silent. He hoped it was peaceful as well.

A few minutes before six, Genesis returned, Zack in tow, and put two large syringes on the kitchen counter next to the teacup Angeal was preparing. “It was all I could wrangle out of old man Hollander. Morphine - the really good stuff too. Except now that it’s over it’s hardly any help. He claimed there was nothing that could really neutralize the mako itself, but some techies will come to clean up the house tomorrow. Where’s Hana?”

Angeal wordlessly gestured back to the bedroom with his thumb, using his other hand to stir the ice into the tea with a small spoon. Genesis raised his eyebrows. “…Really?” Angeal nodded, still staring into the tea and pushing the shrinking ice cube around in the cup. Genesis gave a wry laugh. “Well, at least something good happened from all this. I was going to say we should get her away from the mako, but far be it from me to interrupt this miracle.”

Genesis respected Angeal’s pensive silence for a while, but eventually grew bored of it. “You think Seph will continue to allow it when he regains consciousness?”

Angeal only gave Genesis only a look in response. It was a stupid question and they both knew it.

The ice cube was now only a white sliver swimming in the honey-colored tea, and as Angeal dribbled more of the liquid over it, it disappeared entirely. “Zack, you can go home if you’d like. We’ll take care of things here.”

Angeal was unsettled by his pupil’s behavior. Zack was just standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall, weapon drawn, and, most uncharacteristically, silent and still. He shook his head at Angeal’s invitation. “No thanks,” he said. “I’m Hana’s guard. I can’t go.”

Genesis poured himself a cup of tea from the pot. “Suit yourself,” he said. “But I’m not going to let you get away with slacking tomorrow just because you’re tired.”

“I don’t think I could sleep now if I tried,” Zack replied. "And there's only an hour or so left of the night anyway."

Angeal looked hard at his pupil. “I don’t think any of us will be getting much rest tonight,” he agreed.

Genesis sipped his tea, and though Angeal was ready to take Sephiroth’s tea in to Hana, he was reluctant to disturb the silence in that room. Time passed by unmarked, unheeded.

They all heard Sephiroth’s deep, low groan come from the bedroom, followed by Hana’s soft voice. All three looked at the bedroom door, ready to intervene, but all fell still again.

“Will he really be all right?” Zack asked.

“He’s had worse,” Angeal said, though it was only half-reassuring.

“ _Much_ worse,” Genesis added. “Besides, he’s ShinRa’s best weapon. The scientists aren’t stupid enough to put his life in any serious danger. It’s just unfortunate that he can take so much more than the rest of us mere mortals.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The headboard smacked against the wall - hard. Was he having another fit? Hana’s voice was rising in volume and was sounding increasingly less confused and more panicked.

Angeal took the tea, Genesis took the morphine, and Zack went in empty-handed, but all three were immediately at the door.

“Hana, what’s happening?”

“We’re fine!” she squeaked. “…Um…everything is fi- _aaah!_ ”

At her scream Angeal opened the door and they entered, all of them jarred to find the scene illuminated by an eerie green light. They saw the dark silhouette of Sephiroth’s body half-propped up against the headboard, his head and shoulders at an uncomfortable angle. Hana's body was bent over as she hugged a pillow to her, burying her face in it to hide from the unnatural light.

Sephiroth’s eyes were wide open, the seething vengeance of the mako in his absinthe eyes making them glow brighter far than the lone lamp at the bedside.

“He’s not awake!” Angeal assured her quickly. Hana’s response was too muffled by the pillow to understand. “I know it’s frightening, but he’ll be out of it for some time to come. It’s the mako taking its course.”

“He must’ve taken enough mako to power a small reactor for his eyes to glow that bright…” Genesis mused.

“Not helping, Genesis,” Angeal snapped at the redhead. “Hana, has anything else strange happened or is it just his eyes?”

She took several shuddering breaths and then righted herself, still refusing to look her husband’s way. “I thought…but it was probably just a trick of the light. I think I was just startled.” But her anxiety was not subsiding. Her words were calm, but her face said that she had seen something deeply unsettling.

“It is downright creepy. Look at that, he’s not even blinking,” Genesis said, unable to contain his morbid curiosity, inappropriate though it was. He had moved to Sephiroth’s side and was looking his unconscious friend right in the eyes.

Angeal harrumphed and Genesis rolled his eyes at him. Before he could say something sarcastic, however, he caught sight of Hana and snapped his mouth shut. She was terrified – and rightfully so.

With a sigh, Genesis placed two fingers over Sephiroth’s eyes and gently slid his eyelids closed. The green light subsided and Hana breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“Better,” Angeal said. “Let’s get all the lights on though, shall we?”

Zack did that for them, looking more than a little green himself.

That done, Hana folded the pillow lengthwise and moved to slide it under her husband’s neck.

Sephiroth shot upright and seized Hana.

He collided with her hard and her breath was knocked away. His arms ensnared her, hands clawing into her shoulder blades, half grasping, half writhing. His teeth were bared and he roared in pain between loud breaths that were half panted, half gasped. He convulsed, heaving uncontrollably, and Hana, crushed against him, was helpless against the siege. Mako seeped from the corners of his lips, rivulets falling to Hana’s body, and at once she was consumed by the same pain that was driving her husband mad.

All three men immediately sprung to pry Hana from Sephiroth’s death grip, but their efforts were in vain. Their combined strength still could not best him, and their ferocity only fueled Sephiroth’s own feral madness. The more they fought, the more desperately he grappled to keep his prey.

Hana, imprisoned, could not even draw the breath to scream.

She knew she was going to die – her husband was going to crush her with his bare hands.

All was chaos. Hana could not distinguish the yelling of her friends from the shouts of her husband driven to insanity. And crushed against him, vision swimming, suffocating, she felt his agony flowing rampant through her veins. She burned with him, felt the fires sear away the rest of the world. It drowned her, shook her until she was senseless and helpless in its maw. Thought, and then her very identity were stripped away until she was, deep down to her soul, nothing but a husk lashed about in the throes of anguish.

Neither body could withstand the torture for long. As one, after every last ounce of their strength and sanity had been ripped away, Hana and Sephiroth broke, both of their final screams rending the air as they shattered together.

Hana’s heart stopped as she heard the sound of ripping flesh.

Sephiroth lurched, his entire body falling slack. Air flooded Hana’s starving lungs as three pairs of hands finally tore her from her husband. Sephiroth wasn’t moving, wasn’t breathing.

But it was not finished.

His mouth formed a final scream but no sound came. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his back arched. Every muscle in his body tensed to its breaking point.

As they pulled her away, she saw everything with horrifying clarity.

Amid a haze of crimson blood, a single dark wing tore from Sephiroth’s body.

A moment too late, Angeal plunged the syringe of morphine into Sephiroth’s shoulder blade. As the needle disappeared into his flesh, the torrents of pain were dammed by a taut silence, put on hold as the medicine surged through his system.

Sephiroth gasped, the tiniest, strangled whimpers escaping his lips. He was paralyzed, back erect and wing unfurled, held in place by nothing more than shock.

“What are you doing?” Angeal roared. “Get her _out_!”

But it was too late. She had already seen everything. She had seen that _thing_ rip itself free of her husband’s shoulder. She had seen his blood washed across the bedsheets, the headboard, the wall. She saw the raw terror on Angeal’s face and felt Zack’s hands shake as he reached for her.

Worst of all, she watched as Sephiroth’s breath deserted him, eyes closing as he fell limp and lifeless into Angeal’s arms, defeated at last.

Zack hastily gathered her in his arms and rushed to take her away, but she still stared back at the sight, unable to tear her eyes off the large, dark shape.

She stared at the black appendage, tinted red in the light with his lifeblood, uncurling weakly to its full length and then lying in exhaustion with its master. It was something so grotesque but so magnificent, so misplaced and utterly impossible, that though her mind insisted on its name, she could not come to terms with what she saw.

_A wing_ …

_A_ wing…!

A large, black, solitary _wing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary:  
> Sephiroth comes back to the apartment soaked in mako and unconscious. Genesis and Angeal help clean Sephiroth up while Zack stays with a very upset and confused Hana. She learns that Sephiroth grew up in the Science Department under Hojo's care and has most likely been subject to inhumane experiments (not unlike this one) his whole life. This is the first time she had ever heard anything about it. There is a moment of calm where she is able to spend a few moments alone with her still unconscious husband and care for him. Soon, though, Sephiroth takes a turn for the worse and lashes out at Hana in blind, pain-induced madness, wounding her and exposing her to a good amount of mako in the process. Then Sephiroth everyone finds out what Hojo really did to him this time when he sprouts a single wing. Sephiroth falls unconscious again and everyone's basically in shock.


	28. The Set Up

“Welcome back.”

Hana’s head hurt. There was a weird ringing in the background that sounded like millions of undulating voices just out of her reach. She felt slightly sad, as if she had just parted with them, as if they had a part of her still that she was leaving behind.

The lights were too bright, but she squinted through the water in her eyes, as driven to return as she was sad to depart. The sensations washing through her were more than just awakening. She felt like she was coming home to her own body after being away for some time. Her mind cleared slowly, immediate sensations and then memories and finally identity falling into a coherent picture.

“…A-Angeeeal?” the word was too heavy on her lips, and it dragged out in a way that it shouldn’t have.

“Good. Now where are you?”

She lazily tilted her head to one side and then the other. “…My bedroom.” Confidence in her answer came only after the words left her mouth, but at least the words themselves came easier this time.

“Can you remember anything that happened?”

The question took a moment to process. Then…

_“Sephiroth!”_ she cried, bolting upright. Strong hands held her up as the vertigo tried to drag her back down.

“She’s back, all right,” a second voice said. As the last of the haze in her mind cleared she recognized it as Genesis's.

“Where--?”

“He’s fine, Hana,” Angeal said. “He’s still in his bedroom, resting.”

“How long…?”

“It’s almost four. You were unconscious through the day.”

Hana sat herself up straight and looked to Angeal. He took the hint and let her go, but remained very near, still kneeling beside her futon. “What happened?” she asked.

“You got a good amount of mako on your neck, chest, and shoulders. The concentration levels of that stuff were so high that we were worried you could get poisoning from it. We took you to Professor Hollander, but he cleared you almost immediately and we brought you back here to wait it out.” Angeal pulled out a flashlight and took her chin in his hand. “I need to look at your eyes. Keep talking to me.”

“Why? And about what?” She squinted as he shone the light in her eye but tried to keep it open for him to examine. It was uncomfortable but he was quick and said nothing about his observations.

“He’s checking you,” Genesis said from where he was leaning against the doorframe to her bedroom. “Two of the most obvious symptoms of mako poisoning are problems with speech and memory.”

“Oh. So why do you need to see my eyes?” She was gripped by panic as a thought came into her mind. “Am I a SOLDIER now?”

That made Angeal laugh. “I don’t know, Genesis. Do her eyes look like they’re glowing a bit to you?”

“That’s not even funny, man!” It was Zack’s voice coming from outside her door. “Cut it out!”

“How strange to hear that from you,” Genesis said thickly in response. “I thought you were all about diffusing unpleasant situations with really bad humor.”

Angeal shook his head, still chuckling. “I’m sorry, Hana. I don’t know what came over me. I guess in times like this you either laugh or cry…” He cleared his throat and was serious again. “But no, you haven’t turned SOLDIER. You’d have to take a lot more mako than that for a lot longer period of time.”

She smiled nervously. She still didn’t like the joke but she was grateful for his laugh that lessened the anxiety, anyway. “So I’m all right?” she asked.

“You’re fine. You’re fully awake and speaking and cognizant and you’re not likely to have any further symptoms.”

“Then I want to see---“ She sucked in a harsh breath through clenched teeth. She had tried to move and her body had lashed her with a wave of pain in punishment.

“The bruising, however,” Angeal said with a sheepish smile, “isn’t likely to go away so quickly.”

“Holy,” Hana hissed. “I forgot about that…”

“You’re lucky you’re alive. I still don’t know how he didn’t snap you in two,” Genesis said.

Hana felt the blood run from her face. “Could he have actually done that?”

Genesis shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Hana folded her hands in her lap and looked at them. “He’s so strong,” she whispered. “It’s unbelievable. No wonder he’s the best SOLDIER…” She still remembered being crushed against him, and being so sure that he would end her life with his bare hands.

“He is strong,” Angeal said. “But that’s not why he’s the best. His strength is tempered with astounding discipline and control."

Hana frowned. What she had felt in his arms was neither discipline nor control.

Angeal sighed, knowing what she was thinking, and amended his words. "It’s only when he’s pushed to his absolute limits…when he goes _mad_ like that…that we ever really see the kinds of terrible things that he is truly capable of. And it is terrifying.” His voice lowered and slowed. “I suspect that’s one reason why Hojo does these things to him: to see him at his very strongest, without the restraints of morality.”

Hana averted her eyes. She knew it was the truth: whether Sephiroth had wanted to or not, he could have killed her. Easily. The fact that he could do so by sheer accident was just all the more frightening.

But the strange thing was, she wasn’t as frightened of her husband as she knew she should be.

And she didn’t have an answer as to why that could be, either, even after the worst had almost happened.

“One day,” Genesis said, jolting her out of her musings, “Hojo’s going to make Sephiroth snap for good and the whole planet’s going to pay for it.”

“Don’t be morbid,” Angeal said. “We’ve had enough of that for today.”

“You started it, my friend.”

Angeal ignored that.

Something in her memories of the events of that morning was bothering her – it didn’t make any sense. “Can mako exposure cause hallucinations?” she asked. It would explain everything.

“Yes, why?” Angeal’s lips drew down in a frown, and he was scrutinizing her again. “Did you see something?”

“I thought I saw Sephiroth…his back…?” she trailed off. It was completely ridiculous, so ridiculous that she felt embarrassed to say it. But alarmingly, before she could laugh it off, Angeal sighed and Genesis left the room.

“No, Hana,” Angeal said sadly. “That was real. Sephiroth...has a wing now.” It seemed like he was having as hard a time saying it as she did.

“Oh,” she breathed. “…Oh. I see.”

Angeal’s gave her a moment to process what he had said, knowing it would take much more time than he could give her now. “Do you still want to see him?” he quietly asked.

Hana blinked. Did she? Suddenly she was having reservations. But Angeal’s voice was understanding and gentle. She knew he would completely understand if she told him she didn’t.

“Yes,” she said, sounding surer than she felt. “I just wanted to be prepared.”

“If you need more time—“

“No. Take me to him. Now. Help me up.”

Angeal offered her a hand, which she took gratefully. With a little support at the start, she could walk, if stiffly to avoid aggravating her bruises.

Genesis and Zack were nowhere in the living area. She didn’t like the quiet. Not now. She couldn’t stand it, not even for the short walk to her husband’s bedroom.

“Hey Angeal, can I ask you something?” She’d been dying to know, but afraid to ask. Now she feared the silence more than the answer.

“What is it?”

“When they make you into SOLDIERs, is it as painful as…what Sephiroth just went through?”

Angeal frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “No,” he said. “We’re fully sedated for the entire procedure. It’s considered inhumane to make a conscious human endure such high levels of exposure.”

_But that’s what they did to Sephiroth…._

Angeal squeezed her shoulder. “He’s strong,” was all he could say. “So much stronger than you or I know.”

Hana’s blood ran hot. It didn’t matter how strong he was. Even if he _could_ take it, he shouldn’t have had to.

She hated Hojo like she hated her father.

Genesis and Zack were with Sephiroth in his room.

Genesis sat on the long ottoman under the window, leaning on a heap of throw-pillows, while Zack had pulled in a kitchen chair. “Heya,” Zack said, giving her a soft smile and a nudge as she came into the room. “Glad to see you up.” She didn’t doubt that he was glad to see her, but his voice sounded less glad given the circumstances, and his nudge was hardly enthusiastic.

They had moved Sephiroth’s body to one side so the rest of the bed would support the wing, and his entire chest had been neatly bandaged with long lengths of white gauze. Hana took in a slow breath. The wing was bigger than she remembered. And darker. And fuller. And it was moving softly, the tip curling in and then relaxing again, a part of him perhaps not yet fully accepted and therefore uncontrolled.

She had to look away. Somewhere, anywhere else. She could still feel the ghosts of mako searing in her blood. She knew at least a portion of his pain – she had shared it with him.

She noticed with a start that the waste bin was full of bandages as well, though they were deeply ensanguined. The sight made her stomach roil.

“He’s lost so much blood,” she said. “Won’t he need a transfusion?”

“Can’t,” Genesis said. “Not even from a SOLDIER donor. Hollander said it would only make him worse. Apparently even his blood is special.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know.” Genesis looked at her sideways. “He’ll be fine. Don’t be scared by all those old bandages – those were just from the start. I haven’t had to change the dressings since noon, and he’s got a lot more color back in him already.” Hana thought wryly that it wasn’t quite a feat to celebrate, considering how little color was normally in his skin in the first place. “We heal fast. Perk of being a SOLDIER.”

“Has he gotten up?”

Genesis held up a syringe. “No. And we’re going to keep it that way.”

Hana blinked.

“Sweet revenge,” Genesis cooed, dramatically stroking the length of the syringe with one finger. “For all that paperwork he dumped on me. And all those meetings we have to go to.”

“He needs time,” Angeal said. “The moment he gets up, he’s going to go to work and there’s nothing any of us will be able to do about it. The longer he sleeps, the longer he has to heal. Although,” he admitted, “we don’t know if we have enough to keep him out for much longer. His body metabolizes it way too fast.”

Genesis grunted. "Drawback of being a SOLDIER."

Hana smiled. For all of Genesis’s vengeful airs, he really was acting in the best interest of his friend. “Okay,” she said with a half-smile. “You can keep sticking him then, I guess.”

“I am glad you approve,” Genesis purred. “I look forward to gouging him again in another hour.”

Hana turned her eyes to her husband’s face. The nightmare was over. His face was smooth and peaceful in a way he never was when he was awake. His guard was down, and he was open and defenseless. His chest softly rose and fell, and the slow rhythm calmed her.

He was alive. That was all that mattered now.

“You all can go now, if you’d like,” she said. “If it’s over, I can take care of him.”

“It’s not over,” Genesis said. “This mess is just getting started.”

“I’m sorry to give you such bad news, especially so soon after this happened, but things are happening at ShinRa,” Angeal said. “And we can’t wait for Sephiroth to wake to respond.”

* * *

 

The change of pace was dizzying.

It had all started out innocuous enough at an up-town department store. Hana and Genesis had haggled until she had settled on a dress that, she conceded, she didn’t dislike enough to not wear. Beautiful though it had been on the hanger, she had felt from the start that it would not suit her. Little did she know that Genesis had thought so as well, and that was when the real madness began. Without a word of warning, he had stuffed her back into the cab and thrown her to a pack of women who were now modifying the dress – while she was still _in_ it. Her skin crawled as every inch and curve of her body was ruthlessly scrutinized, critiqued, and then accommodated in fabric and jewels.

A few times in the past, she had been in a similar building for a similar purpose. Back then, she could relax in familiar chambers of stained paper and floors of tatami. Now, she was in a sleek room of marble, chrome, and crystal, with the women howling at each other in barely cohesive chaos. Privacy was gone; she stood barely clothed on a pedestal in the heart of the metropolis surrounded by ceiling-to-floor windows. If she hadn’t been on the 20th floor and thus unlikely to be spotted, she would have outright refused this treatment.

Though on a different continent, much was familiar, if not pleasantly so. Most particularly, she knew the throng of women, each one wielding a different tool or three or five, each one grasping a different place on her body, and each one tucking, trimming, and pinching.

_IhatethisIhatethisIhatethis…_

She pressed her lips into a firm line and raised her arms as she was enfolded in silk again. She did enjoy the way it slipped across her skin, at least. It was a brief moment of bliss before the hands flew to her again.

_“Apparently there was some kind of gala in your honor last night, and Sephiroth outright refused to go,” Angeal had told her. “Genesis found him drugged just before eight, a little more than an hour after the festivities were supposed to begin. The timing is too perfect for this to be a coincidence. What they did to him last night was punishment for his disobedience. But ShinRa is moving on with their game, and they're not going to wait for Sephiroth to recover._

_“They are repeating the event tonight. And given what happened last night, we think it’s best that you go, at least. They’ll be angry that Sephiroth didn’t come, but your presence might be enough to pacify them for the time being.”_

Someone started on her hair again and she let out a yelp. They were moving so fast it was literally painful. She had already been stuck twice with sewing pins, to say nothing of the woman yanking on her hair. She called on every god she had ever heard of for patience. She had known it would be an ordeal to make it through the night, but she hadn’t expected to be so tired before she even made it to the main event.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirrors, angled so she could see five replicas of herself unfolding like lotus petals before her. She could complain about her treatment all she wanted but she could not deny that they knew what they were doing: she hardly recognized the figure staring back at her.

_“As Sephiroth is still recovering and you’ll be treading on dangerous territory, you’ll need an escort. And there’s only one of us who can navigate the finery and politics skillfully enough for the occasion….”_

“How is it coming in there, Hana?” Genesis called.

Naturally, it had to be him. And, naturally, he had overdone it.

She sent a glare in his direction, though he was not permitted in the room as she was fitted so she couldn’t actually see him. “What was wrong with the dress?” she snapped. The women around her took no heed, continuing their dizzying work. “It was fine.”

“Perhaps it was fine, but it was not _dazzling_ ,” he said. “Any common woman could get a gown like that, and you cannot be a common woman tonight. With ShinRa’s elite, respect is only given to those with power, and I will be sure you are dressed to remind them of exactly who your husband is without even opening your mouth.”

Would all this actually make her powerful, she wondered? It seemed like it was all too easy of an answer. She had enough doubts about whether her marriage even rightfully granted her any legitimate strength, let alone something as inconsequential as the clothes she was wearing.

She coughed as a large brush swept powder over her cheeks and she couldn’t talk anymore as brushes and fingers and tools assaulted her face.

The head designer looked on as her assistants worked. She was a strict woman; Hana had known it from the way she dressed alone. Occasionally, she barked orders, but mostly she watched with a scrutinizing gaze that made Hana very uncomfortable. “Too much on her arms,” she said, voice like the crack of a whip. “Take off those sleeves.” Within the time it took her to sigh, she felt the metal scissors begin to trim the gauzy lace away.

“Not too much, Minerva,” Genesis intervened. “We discussed this.”

The woman waved her hands in exasperation but half-conceded. “Take off as much as you can, then. Just leave enough to hide those raw blotches.”

Hana sadly watched the lace fall away out of the corner of her eye before a metal contraption made a grab for her eyelashes. She wasn’t used to it. In Wutai, it was outright indecent to show so much skin. The chill on her arms was almost a foreign sensation, and she missed the long, heavy folds of her kimono.

Now her arms felt completely bare. Genesis and the designer had conceded to let her wear white satin gloves up to her elbows to hide her bruises, but even those were so tight that they felt like nothing more than another layer of skin. Her throat and shoulders felt exposed as well, only covered by gossamer lace embroidered with tiny pearls and crystal drops on blossoms large and small. As artfully as it had been done, the decision had been mostly strategic – they had needed to cover the raw patches of skin where the mako had burned.

_“You need to stand on their level,” Genesis had said. “Tonight, you will dress and speak and act like you’re from the Continent, like you are one of them.”_

Her thoughts turned to Sephiroth. She knew that Zack and Angeal were with him, but some irrational part of her still wondered if he was okay.

“Shoes!” the head designer called. “Silver, I should think. And the tallest we have, ladies, this tiny thing needs some inches on her if she’s going to be taken seriously.”

Hana closed her eyes and tried to blow out her frustration as one of her feet was grabbed from under her and shoved into a shoe. Someone else was rubbing her nails with something that felt like sandpaper.

“Hold _still_!” the woman doing her hair hissed at her. “Do you want me to burn your ears or not?”

She didn’t, and so she closed her eyes, let her body go as limp as possible, and finally let them position her like a doll, however they saw fit. She felt them test bracelets and earrings, shoes and hair adornments. She felt cold from the marble room and hot from the iron being used on her hair. She stood as she was poked and prodded and painted and posed. She became so swept up in the frenzy of activity that when all hands drew back, it was as much of a surprise as it was a relief.

Hana felt suddenly exposed with nothing to protect her from the scrutiny of the head designer’s gaze. At least when the assistants had been working on her there had been other heads and bodies in her way.

The designer’s lips pursed sourly. “Genesis,” she barked. “Tell me what you think.”

Genesis had been dressed in formal wear as well. She might have guessed that he never would have been content in just a black and white tuxedo, but his bravado in color and style still took her aback. His jacket was the color of red wine, with generous accents of golden cords, buttons, and lace. To top it all off, the coat sported ridiculously dramatic coattails long enough to brush the backs of his knees. Beneath that was a vest of blackest silk, shimmering against the white of his pleated shirt with a bowtie to match at his throat.

He looked Hana over closely, taking his time scrutinizing every detail from head to toe. She glared back. She never, ever thought the day would come that she’d have to play dress-up doll for Genesis.

“Minerva, now what is this? I told you to be fast, but not sloppy.” Genesis _tsk_ ed at the way she was dressed and then promptly proceeded to his analysis.

“More of the applique at her throat,” he said. “And I like the scalloped edge along the collar, but it needs to be more dramatic. Add those tiny pearlescent beads you showed me earlier. But she has on entirely too much jewelry; it’s distracting. And _surely_ that’s not all you can do for her figure.”

“I cannot emphasize any more without drawing undue attention to what she is clearly lacking,” the designer said, looking down her raised nose at Hana.

“I disagree. Fit the bodice tighter. She has a charming little figure and it should be flaunted, even if she is noticeably lacking in the chest.”

Hana flared red as she pulled her arms in to cover her chest. “ _What_ did you just say!?” As angry as she was, she also felt embarrassed and more than a little violated to have him sizing up her body to that degree of detail. True though it may have been, she did not appreciate it being spelled out like that.

Genesis waved away the outburst. “Pad it, if you must. And as long as we’re adding flair and definition, put something on the dress to embellish that dainty waist of hers.”

“You---!” She swore that was a smirk she saw. She would have done anything to slap it right off his face, but two women grabbed her dress and she froze as she saw the glint of the light off a needle.

“It will take a lot of time to reshape the bodice,” the designer said, as oblivious to Hana’s rage as Genesis was. “And you did say that time was the one commodity you could not spare.”

“Make it happen. If we are late, we will be late, but she must be spectacular.”

“Very well,” she said. “Girls, back to work.”

Hana could protest no further as she was enfolded in the flurry of women and words and tools once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that a little relief was needed after the last chapter, so I re-added the second scene, which I had from the first draft but originally left out for the sake of the flow. If any of you are comparing this to the original, you will notice that this, and half of the next chapter, are new to the 'nets. But I'm still on the fence about it. Any opinions on whether this is a good change or whether Hana's trip to the designer's is too distracting from the plot would be very much appreciated...


	29. The Gilded Bait

_ShinRa sure knows how to make an impression…_

She was in awe of the finery. Everything shone, brilliant in the dizzying lights. The crystal chandelier scattered lights to the farthest corners, everything bathed in its warm glow. The silver and gold and the chinaware and flowers and linens – it was much too much, but it was glorious. Everything from the ice sculpture of the President a story tall – lit a deep azure from within – to the tiny rings holding the napkins in their delicate shapes – was perfect and gleaming and expensive. Even the people were animated treasures, dressed in finery and gems and gliding about the room with soft conversation and the tinkling of laughter.

Hana slowly let out a breath through her lips. It was the most beautiful battleground she could ever imagine.

“All this is for me?” Hana asked.

“Not officially,” Genesis said, adjusting his cufflinks. “Unlike yesterday, this one is supposedly to celebrate the ending of the war. But I think we both know the truth. The war’s done, but their work isn’t over.”

"And _I'm_ part of that work."

"Precisely."

Hana frowned. No matter how prettily it was dressed, the truth was that she had been forced here against her will, to mix and mingle with the people who would use her the same way her father would – to usurp the throne of Wutai. And after last night, she knew horrifyingly well that a steep price for disobedience was hanging over her head. Not even Sephiroth’s faithfulness to the company and his vital position in the war had been enough to spare him from their wrath.

She thought of ShinRa with the same vengeful, hot-blooded anger that she’d once thought only could burn for the memories of her father.

_I hate them. I hate them all._

“Coat, Hana,” Genesis said.

Hana pulled the heavy winter cloak around her. It was the one thing she genuinely liked about the way she was dressed tonight. She liked its weight and its velvety, soft warmth that covered her from the hood to the hem trailing the floor.

Genesis undid the ties at her throat himself with hands gloved in white. “Don’t be shy. You are ravishing.” As he pulled the garment away with a flourish, cold air rushed to chill her arms and throat, and she shivered.

In Wutai, to show so much skin in formal wear was nothing short of indecent, and she desperately missed the long, heavy sleeves of her kimono. Even the rest of her felt exposed under the caress of such light fabric.

After her trip to the designers, the only thing about the dress that she still recognized was the color. On the hanger, the dress had flowed freely from shoulders to waist, but now it was sewn into a skin-tight sheathe and further cinched at her waist with a satin sash. Because Genesis had insisted that her waist had needed “more definition”, a burst of fabric flowers had been sewn on her right hip, petals dripping with dewdrops of pearl and crystal. Cascades of organza once fell in a slender, simple column; she didn’t know why Genesis had insisted that they be pleated. And while she hated the heels she had been stuffed in, at least the designers had gotten the length of the dress just right – long enough to gracefully dust the ground beneath her without becoming a hazard for tripping.

She missed the comforting weight and protection of her kimonos.

_“You need to stand on their level,” Genesis had said. “Tonight, you will dress and speak and act like you’re from the Continent, like you are one of them.”_

“Now stand up straighter and throw your shoulders back,” Genesis said and Hana was pulled uncomfortably back to the present. “In this place respect will only be given if it is commanded. You are dressed the part, now you need to act it too.”

They had spent no small amount of time discussing the part she was to play tonight. Genesis assured her that everyone was expecting her to be quiet, shy, and ignorant. It was an act that would no longer work, especially because the main objective of everyone in that room was to take advantage of her. The more she could shatter their expectations and withstand them, the better.

Hana pulled into the front of her mind an image of her husband – how he had looked in Junon as he had rushed towards her and into the fray – icy steel composure with a will of fire only visible in eyes alight with strength. Unmovable. Untouchable. Undefeatable.

She knew it was irrational, and that Angeal and Zack were still with him, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he was all right.

It was no wonder that Genesis had been chosen to be her escort in Sephiroth’s place. He moved with practiced grace, exuding a smug confidence that suited the situation well. Growing up in the upper-class had taught him a thing or two, not the least of which had been where to go to get her dressed and groomed for a formal event in less than two hours. Dressed to the nines in a pristine tuxedo himself, he made an imposing figure. Perhaps, Hana allowed herself to admit, an even more formidable figure than he was in his SOLDIER uniform.

She hoped his knowledge could help her get out of this ordeal unscathed.

“I feel like they’re sizing me up,” Hana whispered as she gently threaded her arm through Genesis’s. Her entrance had been realized and now she was the subject of most everyone’s attention. Even the chatter in the air took on a different tone.

“They are,” he said. “So now is not the time to be small. Remember that the only reason we’re here is to put up a strong front. Now, Princess, follow my lead.”

And with that they alighted gracefully into the fray.

* * *

 

“Chivalry mandates that I get you some refreshments,” Genesis said as soon as they were among the guests of the gala. And with that, he slipped away, leaving her completely unguarded in the throng.

Hana barely had time to be angry at the abandonment. People were trying to be subtle about it, still talking and mingling with others, but a definite pattern was developing in the room: people were working their way into a winding, snaking line to meet her, scuffling ahead of each other at every opportunity granted.

Hana swore in both Continental and Wutaian beneath her breath. Genesis _would_ do something like this. She threw a quick glance at the refreshment table to find him throwing down a glass of champagne none to elegantly. The action did nothing to reassure her.

“Are you well, Miss Hana?”

Hana forced her cheeks up into a smile and turned to greet the man at her back. “I am fine, thank you. Beautiful evening.” She hoped it sounded less false to this man than it did to her.

He was a rather unremarkable figure, even in a tuxedo, with mild features modestly groomed for the occasion. Hana knew all too well that looks could be deceiving in this place, but he genuinely appeared harmless enough. “Are you sure?” he asked, sharp and dark eyebrows drawn together. “You look a bit queasy.”

Cornered. Caught looking weak. Hana wanted to be sick. She’d barely said anything and she’d already failed.

“No, no, not at all! It’s just a bit much. I’ve never been to a gala like this before.”

“Ah, understandable. I can’t honestly say that these things don’t make me a bit uneasy too.” The man smiled and extended a hand. “Reeve Tuesti, Urban Development. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Hana returned the gesture but also instinctively bowed from the waist. Only after she had returned upright did she realize that wasn’t the custom here. She swallowed her apology hard, knowing that would only make it worse. Reeve laughed kindly and mimicked her motion in return. “The pleasure is mine,” Hana said and forced an irrepressible sigh through her nose. It could have been worse. Much worse.

“I don’t see your husband here,” Reeve said. He gave a wry laugh. “How did he manage to luck out of this one?”

_I wouldn’t exactly call it **luck** … _“He had some urgent business to attend to,” Hana said. “With the end of the war and everything, he’s been quite busy. You will have to excuse his absence for the evening.”

Had it been a bad lie? Something flashed across Reeve’s face and she knew he didn’t buy a bit of it. “I see,” was all he said. His voice sounded… _concerned_? It was all gone too fast for Hana to make any sense of it. “Very rude of him to abandon you to the crowd, regardless.”

“Genesis is my…” Hana threw her gaze over to the refreshment table again. Genesis was watching her intently, content with the distance between them, and smirking at her through a glass of champagne. Had he gotten himself drunk? “…My chaperone,” she finished, unable to hide her dismay.

Reeve followed her gaze and frowned. “It does look like he’s having a little more than is prudent.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know? I would have thought your husband would have told you. SOLDIERs aren’t supposed to drink,” he said.

“SOLDIERs can’t drink?”

“Something about the mako treatments changes their metabolism. For whatever reason, their bodies can’t break the alcohol down. Even a small glass can leave them despondently wasted for weeks, and a drunk SOLDIER is a volatile one.” Reeve smiled reassuringly at her. “But don’t worry. Genesis can hold a glass or two, unlike the others. Everyone knows he never goes through these things sober. He’ll probably come to get you after he judges himself to be properly inebriated.”

Hana glared daggers at Genesis across the room, and in defiant response, he tipped the plentiful remains of another flute into his mouth. Some chaperone he had turned out to be.

“Until then, I can accompany you, if you would like. I won’t exactly lend anything to your image but I can introduce you to everyone at the very least.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out in a sigh. She smiled widely and hoped it was charming enough to cover her relief. “I would appreciate that very much.”

And together they turned to the throng. It was much less daunting now that she didn’t have to face it alone.

It was introduction after introduction after introduction, tedious, but not hard. Reeve did most of the talking, and she was grateful for it. He was none too elegant but he got the job done for her so all she had to add was a “Good evening”, or “How do you do?” From the very start she instinctively bowed, and to her surprise it charmed everyone, some so much that they openly said so.

Only after her head was filled to the brim with names and her hand was tingling from being grabbed and shaken so many times did Genesis decide to do his job again.

“Thank you for standing in while I prepared, Reeve,” Genesis said simply, threading Hana’s arm through his. “But now I am ready to face the hoards.”

Reeve released her. “It was my pleasure, Hana. Please take care. Don’t hesitate to call if I can be of any assistance.”

She was genuinely sad to see him disappear into the finery.

“Good work,” Genesis said.

“You abandoned me,” Hana said.

“For strategic purposes. You made an ally. A rather unimpressive one, but still. And you did it on your own. It was important for everyone to see you do that.”

“That’s a stupid excuse and I’m not forgiving you.”

“I don’t care. I don’t need it.”

She saw someone out of the corner of her eye who had not come forward to meet her, but had been fixing his sinister eyes on her the whole time. A chill ran up her spine. “That’s him, isn’t it?” she asked Genesis.

He followed her gaze. “Oh, so it is. The head hack Hojo himself. Can’t say the tux helps him much.”

The scientist smirked as he noticed that he had caught her attention. “Don’t,” Genesis said, seizing her arm before she could take another step toward him. “Not here. Not now. We’ll get him back later, I promise. Now look sharp, the President’s got his sights on you.”

She first thought this was another excuse to disarm her but quickly found it to be dismayingly true. Her heart fell through the floor as she got her first good look at the man. He carried himself proudly despite his round and diminutive stature, and perhaps rightfully so. He ruled the world and he knew it. His ice blue eyes seethed with greed that glowed like the end of his cigar – greed that flared as he stared none too discreetly at _her_.

The longer she stayed in his gaze, the more fear gave way to hate. She knew the likes of him. He was no different than her father.

“What excuse do I give for Sephiroth not being here?” Hana asked.

“Not that he’s busy, and not the truth.”

She didn’t have time to tell Genesis how unhelpful that was before the President had arrived, hand extended. Instead of taking it, she pulled her lips into a small smile, clenched her hands together over her heart and bowed deeply. To everyone else, it was a grand display, the appearance of paying the highest respects. Better that no one know the truth: that she only did it to have a moment more to hide the hatred that she knew flared unchecked across her face, and she would not have the willpower to restrain it at all if she had to take his hand.

“Dearest Hana,” the president said. “What a sight for sore eyes you are! You truly are the belle of the ball tonight, you look glorious.”

“You are too kind, President ShinRa,” she replied, only just rising from her bow. She regretted that she could not stare at the floor in front of his shoes forever. “And you must thank your fiancé for me. It was very kind of her to visit.”

It took a moment for the lights in President ShinRa’s head to go on. “Oh that’s right. Ren did pay you a visit, didn’t she? Well, I’ll be sure to tell her.”

Hana didn’t even have to feel Genesis’s arm shaking in a silent snigger to deduce that _Raye_ was clearly no longer enjoying the President’s graces. Somehow, she couldn’t find any pity for the woman on any level.

“I’ll bet you’ve never seen anything like this, even in the highest courts in Wutai,” the President continued. “Here in the room tonight is the cream of the crop of everything. Everything bought with the power of mako, it really is remarkable, isn’t it?”

The hair on the back of Hana’s neck stood straight up. She knew what was coming, and had no idea how to counter it. “Everything is exquisite,” she said with a smile. Genesis clenched her arm to brace her. He felt it coming too.

“I’m glad all this nonsense in your homeland is over. Such a fuss over nothing – look at what they were missing! Now with all the old rabble cleared out we can bring all this to Wutai. You won’t recognize the place when I’m done with it, I can promise you that much.” He sucked in a puff of his cigar and exhaled it right in Hana’s face. She clenched her throat to keep back a gag and a cough. “And to have _you_ – Wutai’s princess – here in the heart of the Continent, what a staggering stroke of fortune! I have no doubt the transition will go much smoother with you on our side.”

He paused, drawing another breath through his cigar and tapping it to let the expended ashes fall to the hem of her skirt. “I’m sure we can both agree that there’s really no need for any more bloodshed over such a simple issue. It would be especially tragic if any resistance caused the blood of the ones we most love to be spilled.”

The image of the waste basket flashed through her mind. She remembered how it had been filled to the brim with bandages saturated with her husband’s blood. She remembered the pain that had driven him mad, how they had forcefully violated his body by attaching something so _inhuman_ to it after they had drugged and tortured him into helplessness.

And he was threatening to do it again.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Come now, President,” Genesis cut across her. “Talking about war at a party is no fun. How about that sculpture? I imagine that it must be very gratifying to have your exact likeness carved into that much ice. Tell me, how much did it cost?”

The President laughed heartily, following the abrupt change in topic without a hitch. “More money than even your family has ever seen, Genesis. A beauty, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Such a staggering cost for an _ice cube_ , though.” Hana noticed that Genesis was tickling the fire materia in his bracer, wispy tendrils of flames dancing lazily up his arms.

The President’s smile was wiped off his face.

“Really, it’s pretty, but also quite useless. Except to posture, I guess. But even for all that, for how impressive it looks and how tall it stands, it’s really kind of amazing to think how a strong enough fire could evaporate the thing into thin air, like it never even existed. All the money in the world couldn’t save it then.” Genesis shrugged, drawing the flames back into the safe confines of the materia orb. “An interesting thought, don’t you think?”

Now it was the President’s turn to be speechless. Genesis bowed and smiled sweetly. “Now if you will excuse us, Hana has not had anything to eat this whole evening. It would be a travesty if she didn’t get to sample the fondue, and it seems to be going quite quickly. With your graces, we will take our leave.”

Genesis whisked Hana away, and she could feel some kind of heat at her heels.

Hana looked at the spread but couldn’t bring herself to eat. The President’s threat had made her sick to her stomach.

_They can’t do that…not again…._

“Champagne?” Genesis offered her a small fluted glass. “It will steady your nerves.”

“No,” Hana moaned, hands gripping the edges of the table too hard.

“Suit yourself,” Genesis said, taking the whole glass in one swallow. He put his glass on a plate carried by a serviceman and said, “I’m going to need a lot more of these.”

“Genesis, you’re not supposed to—“

“You let me handle that,” he said as he downed a second glass. “You just get ready for Scarlet.”

“Who’s—?“ But she could tell who Scarlet was, because she was (barely) dressed in the color of her name, and she was sauntering quickly toward them.

She was going into this fight already barely standing.

“Hana, little flower, it is a pleasure to meet you at last. I must admit that I expected…well, for you to be a little _more_ from how you’ve managed to singlehandedly turn the company upside down.”

Hana extended her hand, not sure how else to respond. Scarlet looked at it but did not shake.

“And to capture the Silver General himself…. You must teach me this foreign magic, little flower.” Her laugh was high and grating, broken up into syllables, something like _kya ha ha_!

“You’re as rude and scantily clad as ever, Scarlet,” Genesis said. “I had hoped you’d display some refinement in both dress and speech given the occasion.”

“And you’re here with this uncouth mongrel? I had so hoped to see you and Sephiroth sharing a dance on the veranda.” She sighed, ignoring Genesis entirely, and swirled the champagne in her glass before taking a dainty sip. Hana wished she could exude even a fraction of her confidence. “Where is that silver beau of yours?”

This time, Hana took the champagne glass that Genesis offered her.

“Sephiroth is ill today,” Hana said after a small sip. _Polite, but not weak,_ she reminded herself, keeping her gaze steadily on the woman’s face. “He says to please excuse his absence.”

“ _Ill_?” Scarlet laughed again, raising Hana’s hackles. It was easier to lock gazes with her now that she was angry. “Come now, girl. Sephiroth is the epitome of health. In all the years I’ve been here, he’s never had so much as the sniffles.” Humming softly, she raised her champagne glass to examine her through the liquid. “Surely,” she drawled, “you could think of a better cover-up than that?” She took the rest of the liquid in one go and returned to her with a smile. “So spill the beans. What did Hojo do to him this time? It must be pretty bad if he’s not here.”

_So she knows?_ With a start, she realized that Reeve had known too. That was why he had seen through her lie. How many people in that room knew, she wondered. How many of them watched idly as this happened time and time again?

And her fatigue flared to anger once more.

“In truth, Sephiroth simply did not want to bother with this event,” Hana said. “He finds the company aggravating.”

Genesis raised an eyebrow at her audacity, but did nothing to mitigate the bite of her words.

Scarlet laughed. “That, my girl, is a much more believable excuse. It just might have worked if everyone didn’t already know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hana insisted. Her lie was not lacking in strength for the anger in her voice.

“I trust we understand each other. Poor little Sephiroth. Did you marry him for his strength? What a shock it must have been to find out that in the end, he’s just Hojo’s pet project. An overgrown lab rat, really, and one who’s been carefully trained to submit to its master. It’s shameful that he’s nothing but a pawn of the company. A _very_ pretty pawn with nothing in his soul but the wars and violence he was created to spread.”

She snapped.

It was so fast that she didn’t even remember it happening, but suddenly Scarlet’s makeup was running, her bangs were dripping, and the front of her dress was wet. The glass in Hana’s hand was empty.

She was aware that Scarlet’s exaggerated shriek had drawn the stares of a good portion of the crowd. She looked at Scarlet, then to her glass, and couldn’t bring herself to care.

In fact, she felt proud of what she had done.

“You’re wrong,” Hana hissed. “You’re _all_ wrong. About everything.” And she turned on her heels and stalked away, each strike of her shoes on the stone echoing in the silence.

Genesis followed her. Only when the talking behind them resumed did he speak.

“That was poorly done.”

“You did the same thing to the President.”

“ _I_ put out a carefully crafted barb to respond to a very real threat. _You_ reacted impulsively to a few biting words. We came here to put up a strong front, not make enemies over nothing. And Scarlet is a formidable enemy.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should. You probably will soon.”

Hana didn’t reply. She stopped as she reached the door to the exit. She folded her arms and stared at the door, straight-backed. “I can’t leave, can I?” she asked quietly.

Genesis didn’t offer an answer.

“I’m sick and tired of _running_ ,” Hana said, gloved hands clenching into fists. “But I don’t know how to fight yet, either.”

“It takes time to learn. Especially this politicking.”

“I don’t _have_ time!” she said, probably more loudly than was prudent. “Any day now, we’re going to have to face—“

The door before her burst open, and in tumbled Zack, who skidded to a stop only just in time to avoid an outright collision with her. The man was panting, dressed in dress slacks but with a shirt that was only half tucked in and a tie that had been tied in a regular knot, uneven ends diverging at an angle as they ran down his chest. He’d missed a button halfway down too.

“Zack, besides the issue of you abandoning your post, you look wholly indecent,” Genesis said. “And your entrance leaves much to be desired.”

“No time!” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath. “Where is he?”

“Where is _who_ , puppy?”

“ _Sephiroth!_ ” Zack choked. Hana’s heart plummeted.

“You let him get away?”

“ _Let_ him?” Zack cried. “We didn’t expect him to jump out the _window_!”

Hana’s heart stopped, because at once, she felt the presence of what used to be her husband.

She felt him at her back before she turned, fearfully, to see him. She saw his silhouette first, dark and tall and terrifying on the veranda, surrounded by the dark of night and the distant glitter of stars. She heard the collective gasp as the crowd saw the irregularity in his shadow, the long, strong arc extending from his shoulder.

He walked into the light, and everyone saw.

_A wing_! The whispers rang.    

And for him to enter from the veranda…

_He had **flown**!_

He looked the exact same as the last time she had seen him unconscious on his bed. Though dressed in his black SOLDIER uniform pants, the only shirt he wore was the white bandages encircling his chest, his shoulders and arms completely bare. Despite how improperly he was clothed, he held himself as tall and proud as if he had just emerged victorious from a battle. His long katana was bare in the moonlight, ready in his hand, gleaming with the promise of death.

And his wing was at his side, unabashedly displayed for all of ShinRa to see.

“Has he gone stark _mad_?” Genesis hissed.

Every step that Sephiroth took was an eternity. Hana, terrified, sought out his eyes, and lost her breath anew. Something burned there. _Fury_. The likes of which she had never known, and something – or some _one_ , she had the distinct feeling – had consumed him.

She didn’t know this man.

She didn’t want to.

She was afraid.

She took a step back to flee, when another sound stopped her dead in her tracks.

Behind her, in the shadows, she heard another sound echo, the sound matching exactly to each of Sephiroth’s footfalls.

It was the clack of a cane against the floor.


	30. Within Range

_They all knew each other. They stood out – all seven of them – anomalies in the world they lived in. Though they didn’t always get along and sometimes outright hated each other, they were each other’s worlds, every one of them, because all they had was each other._

_She’d been brought into what was formally called the ShinRa Company Orphanage only two weeks prior, and already, this truth was branded into her heart._

_It had been hard at first to live as a child in this world of adults, especially given how she had come there. They were all small, inferior, physically and intellectually. They were powerless in every way, herded like sheep from morning to night in everything they did._

_But they had each other. And it was enough._

_Except, of course, for **him**._

_He was kept far away from the rest of them, and why was more a matter of myth than anything else. He should have been with them, sharing a room with the other three boys, eating and playing with them and sharing their dreary state of existence. But for whatever reason, he was kept separate. He was special, somehow, they whispered to her, their tones always soft and reverent as they spoke of him. He was **really** different, even from them, the unwanted outcasts of society._

_They only ever saw him as he was marched to unknown places, surrounded by Turks. None of them had ever heard him speak, and so rumor had it that he couldn’t at all. He was a solemn, strange figure whose porcelain face betrayed nothing, ever._

_She hadn’t seen him yet, but she heard of him every night._

_They called him “The Silver One”, for that was supposedly the color of his hair. He was both a legend and a scapegoat in their bleak world. He was how they explained the many unexplainable things in their lives. “He’s not human, and he’s probably not even really a kid,” they told her. “You can’t be tricked by the way he looks! He’s some kind of god…or demon…and he can make things happen.”_

_Though she didn’t believe in such things, she liked hearing the stories. They added excitement to their lives that they desperately needed, an unsolvable mystery to keep them on their toes and delight them with impossible tales._

_“You know that time he fought off the Turks guarding him? They say they had to call in ten SOLDIERs to stop him from escaping! Apparently he almost made it too…”_

_“That’s nothing! I hear he killed a whole pack of monsters with his bare hands!”_

_“I hear he did it **blindfolded**.”_

_Soon, she found herself adding to the tales just as all the other children did. Each rumor stretched and grew until it had a life of its own, never the same, always delightful. Rumors turned to blatant lies, perhaps, but ones that made them laugh and shriek or sit in stunned awe. And for that, she was truly grateful. Even if she insisted to herself that she knew they weren’t real, this Silver Child was the spice in her bland life._

_But though the other children insisted that they’d seen him with their own eyes, she knew that he was just a figment of their imaginations, a fairytale to bring life to the living dead._

_She just knew that he wasn’t real._

_Until the day that she’d been thrown into that cell with him._

* * *

 

Of the two options, perhaps irrationally, Hana feared Sephiroth less. Her feet carried her forward, towards him.

It took all her willpower to approach and then wrap her arms around Sephiroth’s waist. His body was unyielding, hard as stone, his eyes never moving from where they were fixed with lethal intensity on President ShinRa, not even to look at her as she drew nearer. When her embrace did nothing, she slid a hand up his chest and onto his jaw, where she cupped his face in her gloved hand. “Sephiroth,” she said, stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “I’m so glad that you could make it.”

She feared that it wouldn’t be enough. She had tried to swing it so it would seem as natural as possible, but he was lost in a rage for blood, sword eager to drink and drink deeply. She didn’t know what else she could do without pushing the situation further toward bloody chaos.

She waited, praying. Praying he had even heard her voice, that he could see her through the foreign presence that had invaded his eyes.

The tense silence ended at last as his eyes closed and he exhaled his wrath.

The world resumed its motion. People began to talk and mingle once more, though everyone stayed well away from the couple by the veranda. At least they were no longer the center of attention.

Sephiroth folded his hand over hers and pulled it from his cheek. “Hana,” he said.

“Are you okay?” she whispered to him.  

“I am fine,” he said, though she knew it was a lie. Too much had happened for even one as stoic as him to be unaffected, and embers of a conflict she wasn’t sure that she understood still seethed under a markedly thin façade of normalcy and control. “We have work to do.”

She heard it still, that hateful cane tapping a leisurely beat as the man stepped closer and closer.

Genesis and Zack were at her side. “Is that him?” the redhead asked.

“Yes.” Sephiroth responded, but something passed between the two SOLDIERs that was far more than the meager words exchanged. Sephiroth’s dark wing twitched.

She sucked in a breath and turned to face the same direction as her husband. Sephiroth’s hand slid across her back and rested on her opposite hip as she instinctively drew closer to him.

They were in a bad state to face her father, but the time to do it had come, whether they were ready or not.

* * *

 

“Blackwell Reuben,” Sephiroth said, regarding her father with narrowed eyes. Hana couldn’t decide whether her hate or fear of the man was stronger. “What are you doing here?”

The man was dressed in the dated clothes of years past, and he stood out from the crowd for it, but he wore them well all the same. His suitcoat was large and thick, well embroidered with gold cords and carved buttons, with coat tails past his knees and boots just as tall. A dark cape billowed behind him, and there was lace at his wrists and his throat, secured with pendants of onyx, and the silver chain of a pocket watch draped over his breast. He wore a modestly sized top hat with a white feather tucked into the brim, its large plumage toeing the line between majestic and ridiculous.

The man’s thin, bloodless lips curled into a smile, and his eyes, too small for his face and infinitely dark, were glimmering with mako and malice. “Sephiroth,” the man greeted, resting both hands on the head of his ebony cane. “This is the first time we meet, son, and already you regard me so coldly?”

Sephiroth’s wing swept in a great, outward arc before adjusting itself to rest at his side, the wind it created rushing audibly through Hana’s hair, billowing her skirt, and playing with Reuben’s coattails. Though the action may very well have been involuntary, it was beautiful, and Hana allowed herself a moment of awe at its strength and grandeur. 

“And you…you’re that little Gongaggan boy,” Blackwell continued. His smile faded, and he looked bored. “How droll.”

“That’s right, I am!” Zack said, more heatedly than was prudent and they all knew it. “And I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done!”

Blackwell hummed his disinterest. “I see the years have not tamed your spite, boy. No matter. I have no time to waste on you anyway.” Zack geared himself to charge but was held back by Genesis’s outstretched arm.

“And Commander Rhapsodos, too. You are behaving more calmly than I would have expected, given the rumors of your theatrics.”

Genesis smirked. “Don’t be fooled by my demeanor,” he said. “I am only acting a part.”

“I see.” The man frowned but ultimately disregarded the both of them. “And my little girl.”

“Don’t call me that,” Hana hissed. “You are a monster and I hate the fact that I carry your filthy blood.”

“What is a father to do?” Blackwell lamented, sighing deeply. “My only daughter fled from my side in the dark of night, and I learn that she has married a stranger behind my back. And now that we are reunited at last I am still greeted so coldly, though I bring nothing but blessings for your union despite being so spurned.”

“I don’t want your blessing!” Hana cried. “You can take it and go!” Sephiroth pulled her tighter into him. It might have appeared to be a comforting gesture, but she felt the warning in his snappy movement. He was telling her to reign in her emotions. Hana grit her teeth and swallowed a snarl, taking a deep breath instead as she tried to comply.

“Your words are bitter as always, Yuki,” Blackwell said, and Hana’s eyes narrowed at that use of her name.

“I’ll give you more than _words_ \---!“ Zack started, but was silenced by a glare from both of his superior officers. His face was grim and determined, but he seethed in silent inaction for the moment.

“Why are you here?” Sephiroth asked.

“I’m offended that you even need to ask!” Blackwell said, one gloved hand sweeping his cape behind his shoulders. “I came to see my precious daughter, and to ensure that she was being well cared for.”

“I’m fine,” Hana said. “So leave.”

“Come now, child! Much has happened since we last saw each other. Even President ShinRa himself agreed that there is much to be discussed. So much so, in fact, that he has invited me to stay as an honored guest.”

The conversation stopped cold. He had already gone to the President. And he would be in the building, perhaps even literally staying next door to them.

Blackwell took noticeable pleasure by their silence, flashing a wide grin. “I trust we will be good neighbors. After all, we are already _family_.”

“You--!” Genesis grabbed Zack by the shoulders and held him tight.

Blackwell touched the brim of his hat and gave a curt bow. “The honor has been mine, gentlemen, and my fair little princess, but the President and I have much to discuss before the night is done.” With a second tip of his hat, he curtly dismissed himself, cane rapping harshly with every step.

“A final word, then, if you please,” Genesis said, a coy smile of all things tugging at the corner of his lips. “Humor me a moment. I do so hate to not have the last lines.”

Blackwell stopped and hummed his interest, but did not look back at them.

“If it is a battle of words you wish to wage,” Genesis said, “you may very well beat Sephiroth, but you cannot best me.”

Blackwell laughed. “Is that a _threat_ , Commander?”

“Perhaps,” Genesis said. “It has been some time since I have had such a contest, and I can’t say I’m not intrigued.”

Blackwell turned, but all they could see under the shadow of the brim of his hat was a brilliant, white smirk. “Then let us wage glorious war, Commander, and see which of us can capture the hearts of the planet.”

And with that, he took his leave.

“A most intriguing opponent,” Genesis said quietly. “And, naturally, quite the dilemma too.”

“It’s a disaster!” Zack said. “He’ll be so close all the time! And what are _you_ doing, Genesis? You wouldn’t let me at him but you just up and---”

“We will adapt accordingly,” Sephiroth said. For all that he was dressed only in pants and bandages and sported a _wing_ of all things, he carried himself with more dignity than anyone else in the room. He did, however, noticeably look away from Professor Hojo, who loomed in the distance like a shadowy fiend. His wing gave a twitch under the evil doctor’s leer.

“You need to rest,” Hana said softly.

“I have rested enough.” And the way he said it left no room for argument. “There is work to be done.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Hana said. “I’m done with this.”

For the first time that evening, Sephiroth looked at her. She froze as his eyes traveled slowly up and down her body, electricity sparking in her veins in the wake of his gaze. He hummed softly. She didn’t have the slightest clue what the noise meant.

"Very well,” he said. “We will withdraw for the night.”

But President ShinRa was walking their way, Hojo lurking suspiciously behind. Hana groaned as she steeled herself to face them but Sephiroth turned her away. “Come, we will go,” he said.

But she planted her feet. She remembered what had happened last time he had refused the President. He looked down at her, searched her eyes, and then closed his own as he understood her reluctance.

“There is nothing more they can do to me,” Sephiroth said, voice low and deadpan.

Hana swallowed her retort and let him lead her into the night, knowing that they were turning their backs on a nest of angry vipers.

* * *

 

Sephiroth’s silver hair flowed in the wind, strands dancing lithely around his body, while his wing remained strong and impassive to its caress. She was transfixed by the scene – his resolute stance and ever guarded expression, and yet there was movement still in the things he could not control: the flowing of his hair, a flicker in his eyes, and even a shudder of the mighty wing at his shoulder.

Living, liberating silver writhing across the stoic, inky blackness.

The movement thrilled her.

Her fingers ached to stroke his glossy plumage, but she knew the gesture would not be welcomed. Still, she was fascinated by the way his wing moved and its foreign beauty and strength, even though she knew full well the terrible truth about how it had been acquired.  

Could something so tragic ever be truly beautiful, she wondered? The great wing shifted, curling into itself before relaxing again.

She smiled softly despite herself, the uncertain action not daunting her in the slightest. For the first time in a long time, she had hope that it could.

* * *

 

Angeal watched Hana and Sephiroth as they exited the gala. He had been late to arrive because he had been at another place that he had been sure Sephiroth would dart to in his anger, but from the looks of things, the crisis had been averted, with or without Zack’s help.

His friends didn’t see him, or at least, they gave no indication that they did.

The ordeal had changed Sephiroth, of that he was certain. When the man had first awakened Angeal had been terrified that ShinRa had broken him at last. He now clung to the evidence he had that this was not the case. It seemed more accurate to say that something inside him had snapped. Something was being let loose – something kept sealed in the furthest reaches of his soul until ShinRa went too far and freed it.

Angeal feared it. Whatever was being unleashed, it was not the friend he knew, and it didn’t belong inside him.

Too much had happened too fast, and Sephiroth was now gravely wounded in far more than just his flesh. Angeal had a sinking feeling that the worst was yet to come, and Sephiroth’s condition would only worsen.

The only hope he could garner was in Hana’s hands, now gingerly reaching toward his friend’s back.

She was changing too, in ways that he almost didn’t dare to hope.

Whether or not it would be enough was more than he could say.

* * *

 

_A wing._ As soon as she saw it she knew it was over.

She had failed.

She had failed _him_.

She ran and her camera dropped to the floor as she fled. She wasn’t there long enough to see it break, or how the cloak of her pursuer passed over the pieces.

When the cane struck her, she welcomed the blackness.

_I did this to him…_


	31. The Roadblock

Overnight, everything had changed.

She woke up early to make Sephiroth breakfast. She knew it probably was a useless gesture, ridiculous in the face of all that had happened, but it was all she knew to do, as she knew he would not talk to her about what he really needed.

She opened the refrigerator, wincing at the light. Even though there were no windows for her to see the pre-dawn blackness, her mind and body knew it should be dark, and she felt the light as an affront to the natural order of things. She groaned, rubbed her eyes, and reached for the eggs.

She didn’t know how to make a continental omelet, so she settled for the Wutaian variety that she knew best. She loved the smell of the sesame oil on the skillet, mixed with savory sauce as she fried the rice and then carefully enfolded it in her omelet. There was no ketchup, so she blended a tomato and added spices and cooked it until it was thick enough to pass for a sauce instead of a soup.

The small, simple gestures of cooking, the smells and flavors she had known all her life mixed with the challenge of improvisation, soothed her spirit.

She could only hope it would do the same for her husband.

She put the omelet on a plate and poured some orange juice, though how people from the Continent could stand such sweet things for breakfast was beyond her. As an afterthought, she threw on some fresh herbs on the plate for a little splash of green.

She put her creation on the table, then went up to Sephiroth’s door. It was less scary now that she had actually been in there. Still, with more than a little trepidation, she knocked on his door. “Good morning,” she said, still quiet in reverence of the hour.

“What is it?” was the immediate response. His voice was fully alert, and she wondered if he had slept at all.

“I made you breakfast. Omurice. I wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

There was no answer, not even a minute later. “I’ll leave it on the table for you,” she conceded, and left.

“Unnecessary,” came his voice as soon as she turned to leave. The word stung like the crack of a whip across her back.

She had nothing left to say, so she retreated.

She sat down on her futon in her room. She couldn’t go back to sleep now that she was fully awake. So what now? 

The silence was deafening.

She reached for a brush and began to comb her long hair. The repetitive motions were enough to restore her sanity, and the whispered sigh of the bristles as they pulled through her hair broke the quiet.

Why did she feel like such a stranger in her own home?

She waited to hear his footsteps. They were a long time in coming, but eventually she saw the light from the living room spill in from the narrow gap under her door. She threw her hair over her shoulder and rose to greet him.

He was dressed in his usual SOLDIER uniform – coat and pants and boots immaculately black, even darker against the brilliant platinum of his hair and pauldrons. His back was to her, posture straight and proud as he pulled several things from the kitchen cabinet, movements snappy and precise.

_His wing was gone_.

Hana stared, the absence jarring her. There – his right shoulder. There was simply nothing there.

She blinked, trying to dispel the illusion. The motion, repeated several more times, did not bring the limb back.

Had it been just a dream?

She realized far too late that Sephiroth had fallen still, the small sounds of him gathering his things gone and the torturous silence returning. He had turned his head to the side and was using the full force of one glowing eye to give her a leer that curdled her blood and stopped her heart.

She jerked. How long had she been staring? How long had he just _let_ her? Her face flushed red in shame. “S-Sorry! I just—I mean it’s—“

Sephiroth’s eye narrowed to a mere slit of danger, but he turned back to his work.

She wished so badly that he would have yelled at her; the silence that he let her suffocate under was a thousand times worse.

He put a laptop under his arm and headed for the door.

“I’ll bring you lunch,” she said weakly, choked by the miasma of his fury.

“I don’t want your pity.” He threw the barbed words at her without so much as a hitch in his step and slammed the door behind him.

When the Turk assigned to be her guard came a few minutes later, he found her standing rigid, frozen where she stood, staring wide-eyed and dumbfounded at the door.

* * *

 

Angeal just happened to be passing by the offices when he heard the knock.

He changed his course slightly so he could get a better look down the hallway. Hana was there, one hand on Sephiroth’s office door, and the other holding a square container wrapped in pretty printed cloth. Several feet behind her was a Turk, gun out and ready even on the SOLDIER floor.

“Good afternoon,” he called to Hana, nodding curtly at the Turk.

“Hi, Angeal,” Hana returned. She sounded tired. She’d been through so much, the thought of her father being so close had to be taxing, and it all wasn’t made much easier by the incessant presence of the Turk guards that Sephiroth insisted she have. “Is Sephiroth here?”

Angeal took the doorknob and turned, as she was clearly too afraid to. “No,” he said in surprise when he found the office empty. “That’s…odd.”

Hana let herself into the office. She was dressed in Continental clothes today, with her hair in a long, dark braid tracing her spine.  

“Did you need something?” Angeal asked as she crouched down to examine, of all things, the trash can beside Sephiroth’s desk.

“It’s nothing important. I just brought him lunch.”

So the wrapped box was a bento. Angeal smiled, despite his confusion when she pulled out a wad of something dark from the waste bin. “Well, he should be here. I can ask around and find him.”

“No. I’ll just leave it here.” She rose and set the colorful box in the front and center of his desk. “I don’t think he wants to see me.”

As she left the office and pulled the door shut behind her, Angeal got a better look at what she’d pulled out of the trash can: several long, dark feathers.

“His wing was gone this morning,” she explained. “I didn’t know what to think. I started to wonder if it had even been real.”

Angeal crossed his arms. “That’s strange,” he said. “It was definitely real.”

Hana’s fingers slid tenderly over the feathers. “I wish…he’d talk to me.” It came out so quiet that Angeal had to think about the utterance for several seconds before he understood.

“Hey,” he said, putting a friendly hand on her shoulder. “He’s raw and moody and definitely not himself. You can’t really blame him. This will pass. And I’ll talk to him. We’ll see if I can shake him out of it sooner.”

“Please be gentle,” she said.

Angeal blinked, stunned by the request. “I will.” He swore that if he hadn’t learned by now that asking about their relationship was a bad idea, he never would. “Hana, how do you feel about—?”

“Please give this to him!” she said quickly and shoved a small box into his chest with both hands before he could finish. “And tell him…no, don’t say anything. Just give it to him.”

Angeal closed his hand around the package. It fit easily in one hand.

“I will,” he said again.

“I have to go now.”

“All right. Take care of yourself.” He looked at the Turk, who was observing everything without any emotion, a statue dressed in a suit. He seriously questioned the wisdom of trusting her to a guard employed by the company with Blackwell in direct contact with President ShinRa.

“I will. Thank you, Angeal.”

* * *

 

This time, it was Genesis who found her standing before Sephiroth’s door, knocking with one hand and holding a plastic container of food in the other, the Turk lurking behind her.

“Dinner?” Genesis asked, looking at the container with no small amount of interest.

“Yes,” Hana said. “Have you seen Sephiroth?”

“No, not all day today. I know Angeal went looking for him, though.”

“Any luck?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.” He watched her face fall. “I’m sorry. He’s really in a foul mood this time.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “He’ll come out of it, right?”

“Yes, he always does.” Genesis purposely withheld the word _“eventually”_. It wouldn’t be helpful to anyone right now.

“I’ll go back to my apartment then. See you later,” she said.

Genesis raised a hand in farewell, and watched her walk away, head down, the Turk following in her shadow.

_Forget Angeal_ , he thought, _I’m going to have some choice words for Sephiroth myself_.

* * *

 

Zack looked from the note, to the folded clothes, and back to the note again. For all the times he’d done this, he still did not understand.

_You are hereby promoted to SOLDIER First Class, effective immediately. – Sephiroth_

That was it. That, and a change of uniform as a sign of his promotion. In a handful of words that did nothing to explain why this had happened or how it had happened so fast, Zack was handed his dream.

He was struck by his absence of feeling.

_I should be happy_ , he thought. But he wasn’t. Not even close.

He felt empty, because this may have been his dream, but something was really wrong for it to happen this way.

Somehow he knew that it had to do with the events of the past few days, and he didn’t like the implications one bit.

He didn’t trust himself to talk to Sephiroth about it, and so he dialed Angeal’s number.

If his mentor didn’t have the answers, he didn’t know what he’d do.

* * *

 

“Yes,” Angeal admitted. “I knew this was going to happen.”

That gave Zack a feeling other than confusion to latch on to. He was angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he screamed into his phone. “What’s so secret? What is going on?”

“Zack,” his mentor’s voice was soft and level. “I don’t have all the answers. The only one who knows everything is Sephiroth, and he’s locked himself in the records room out of everyone’s reach.”

“So tell me what you do know!”

“Zack. I need you to be calm and focused. I need you to think like a SOLDIER.”

“He’s using me, isn’t he?”

The line rang silent.

“So that’s it, then.”

“Listen, for once in your life, Zack. Neither of us know that. I’m sure Sephiroth had good reasons for what he did—“

“ _He’s using me!_ I’m not a real First! I didn’t pass all the tests or reviews or whatever! I didn’t earn it. He’s just handing me a title that means _nothing_! I’ve worked hard for years to get this and he gives it to me – _except it’s empty_! He’s taken all the meaning out of it. My _dreams_ , Angeal! All I’ve done, all I’ve tried to be, it’s _nothing_ now and he’s making a mockery out of everything I’ve ever fought for so I can be his _pawn!_ ”

“He _trusts_ you,” Angeal pushed back, raising his voice to match the intensity of his pupil’s. “He took risks for you. He broke the rules to get you where you now stand.”

That quieted Zack. The line rested uneasily as he turned the words over slowly in his mind. “Sephiroth _trusts_ me,” Zack repeated. “…Why? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t pretend to understand it either. But he said he had an assignment for you, something he would not entrust to anyone else. Can you understand what that means? Against all evidence from your performance evaluations he saw something in you. Something in you that is able to do what he is not.”

“…This still makes no sense. Why promote me at all? If it’s just about Hana I can guard her just fine as a Second.”

“I think it’s much more than that,” Angeal said. “There are…things a First can do that a Second cannot.”

“Really? Nobody ever told me that. Like what?”

Angeal quickly let out his answer and the line fell still. He knew that his student was coming to terms with a heavy and somber truth.

Angeal hated it. He hated this game that they had all become entangled in. He hated the words and the lies and the secrets. He hated the pain that had reduced Sephiroth to fragments of his former self, the uncertainty that was tearing Hana to pieces, and now, a desperate move that may very well offer salvation, but at a cost to Zack that no man should ever have to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Omurice - a blend of "omelet" and "rice". Rice fried with vegetables and wrapped in an omelet, topped with ketchup.
> 
> 2) Bento - a Japanese boxed lunch


	32. The Flower and the Tree

Hana tried again at breakfast, but this time there wasn’t even an answer when she knocked on Sephiroth's bedroom door. He hadn’t come home when she had finally fallen asleep last night. Maybe he hadn’t returned at all.

The apartment was empty and silent. She was tired of it, and she was tired of ShinRa. Its walls were like a prison - a cell she now shared with her father and President ShinRa, the men she hated most in the world.

She didn’t consciously make the decision to leave; her feet just carried her out. She tripped over fresh flowers and gift-wrapped boxes on her doorstep, paying them no mind. The ever-present Turk following in her shadow was getting easier and easier to ignore, and for that, she was grateful. She didn’t need anything else to be upset about.

The air in Midgar, reeking with pollution, was sweeter for the freedom that it offered her. As she walked, faces turned and whispers followed. Once or twice, people made as if to approach her. She quickened her pace. Whether she lost them herself or the Turk dissuaded their pursuit was an irrelevant difference that she neither knew nor cared about.

She went to the only place she knew to go: Ma’s izakaya.

It was midday, just as it had been the last time she had been here. She felt a quick pang in her heart as she remembered what had happened that day. She missed her brother. Not the wild and violent man he had become, but the strong and steady presence he had been for her when she had been a child.

She stopped her thoughts before she could remember that he was sitting in a prison in Junon. She could not care about anything else or she would burst.

She held the key that Ma had given her in her hand, but she didn’t want to use it. The izakaya would not open until nightfall, and she was the only person on that street. Ma and Pa would be cooking, preparing, even at this early hour.

She raised her hand and knocked instead.

Ma opened the door, wiping flour off her hands with a towel. “ _Hime-chan_ ,” she said, surprised, but only for a moment. The woman took one look at Hana’s face and threw her arms around her.

“ _Doushita no?_ ” Ma asked.

“Ma,” Hana said through the lump in her throat. “Ma… _tasukete!_ ”

* * *

 

Ma’s philosophy on care was food first, then words.

Hana had been brought straight upstairs and seated at the kotatsu, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Ma had brought tea immediately, and soon after, Pa had brought ramen. Everything was warm and familiar. She loved the food, she loved the tatami beneath her, and she loved the caress of her native language on her ears.

Only when she had eaten and Pa had whisked away the dishes was she allowed to speak at last. Ma sat behind her on a stool and pulled the dark lengths of Hana’s hair into her hands, brushing with long, soothing strokes.

“Ma,” she said, speaking in her native tongue and loving how it danced from her lips. “So much has happened.”

“I am so glad you came, _Hime-chan_ ,” Ma said. “I read the news of you and was so worried. You can rest here, for as long as you’d like.”

“I wish I could,” Hana said. She closed her eyes. She loved the feel of her hair being combed. Ma was so gentle and rhythmic that it was easy to lose herself in the motion. With every slow stroke, another one of Hana’s fears was put to rest.

“Is it all right if I call you _Hime-chan_?” Ma asked quietly.

Hana smiled. “It is when you say it.” She opened her eyes when a revelation hit her. “You knew. You knew who I was even before it leaked to the press.”

“ _Hai_ ,” Ma affirmed. “I always knew.”

“How?”

“So very long ago, I was a member of the royal court, in high enough station to hear the whispers of the Kazehawa line.” Ma laughed softly. “They told me I was foolish to believe, but I did always have a soft spot in my heart for legends and fairy tales.”

“Legends,” Hana said softly. “I wish they were only that.”

Ma pulled out a small bottle of oil that smelled like yuzu and rubbed two or three drops on the comb to run it through her hair.

“Sephiroth got hurt,” Hana said. “Very badly. And ever since it happened, he’s been….”

Ma hummed her understanding. “He is a man of great pride,” Ma said. “He will not want to admit his wounds, even to you, so he is withdrawing, putting on his strongest and scariest face, yes?”

“ _Hai_ , _soudesu._ And with the false stories the press is putting out, and the succession, and my father—“

“It’s a very bad time for you and your husband to be divided,” Ma said.

“We were never joined to begin with. I don’t know how we ever convinced ourselves that this would work.”

Ma stopped combing, neatly folding her small, weathered hands in her lap. Hana stared ahead, hair gleaming with the oil, but her eyes were dead.

“ _Hime-chan_ ,” Ma said. “There’s something I want you to have.”

Ma got up from the stool and went to the solitary dresser. She pulled out many yukatas, t-shirts, and slacks, placing them on the top of the structure. When she had nearly emptied the drawer of its contents, she hummed and pulled out a thin, rectangular box that had been buried deep inside. It was lacquered, made of cherry wood and embossed with elaborate gold kanji.

_Takahashi_ , the kanji read, and Hana widened her eyes at the name. _Ma is from the Takahashi family?!_ Ma only smiled and approached her with the box.

“Oh…no!" she said as she realized what she was going to be given. "I can't--!”

But Ma kneeled beside her at the kotatsu, tenderly setting the box in Hana’s lap and pulling the lid open for her to see.

Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, was a set of kanzashi pins. Tender sakura blossoms were formed of metal, silk, jewels, and tiny pearls, arranged in perfectly set bundles and framed by wisps of a feather-light, translucent cloth.

Hana’s hands ghosted over the beautiful pins, stunned by the workmanship. She felt the smoothness of the kushi comb and kanoko dome, the precise folds of each tiny petal on the tsumami falls, the perfect sphere of the tama pin, and savored the tinkling of dangling metal strands on the ogi-bira and the tiny bells at the ends of the pins. 

“I can’t take these,” Hana said. “These are relics. Priceless. And I have the set passed down to me by my family.”

“You are _Hana_ , the flower,” Ma said. “The sakura blossoms suit you. The Kazehawa phoenix pins you carry are important too, and you should treasure them. But I am an old woman, with no daughter to pass these to.” She closed the box and slid it into Hana’s lap. “I would bequeath them to you, _Hime-chan_ , and with them, give you whatever power is left in my ancestral line.” She took Hana’s hands and placed them over the top of the box. “It will not be much, but should you ever find yourself in Wutai, it might be enough to offer you some protection.”

“Ma,” Hana said, smiling. “I…I will accept these.”

Ma patted Hana’s hands. “It will not be easy going back. You will have to be strong while your husband is not.  But I believe in you. You are _Yukihana_. You are the flower blooming amid the snow.”

“Flowers can’t bloom in the snow,” Hana said.

“Can’t they?” Ma asked, and there was a knowing twinkle in her dark eyes.

The look made Hana suspicious. “And nothing can grow in Midgar. This place…it is death.”

“I am _Matsuko_ ,” Ma said. “The ‘pine tree child’. And it has not been easy, but I have found life here, and grown.” Ma smiled, wisdom etched into the lines on her face. “And I believe you can too.”

* * *

 

Pa was sweeping when she went downstairs. He looked up at her, silent but kind. He saw the kanzashi set in her hands and nodded.

“ _Ittekimasu_ ,” she said. “I have to go back.”

“ _Itterasshai_ ,” he said.

Hana gave him a smile and slid the wooden door to the side, parting the fabric behind it to exit.

“Pain,” Pa said as she left, “opens the heart.”

Hana looked back to him but he had resumed sweeping. She left quietly, the simple words as meaningful to her as Ma’s wisdom.

* * *

 

Angeal had told her that Sephiroth was in the records room, and that he was nigh unreachable until he came out. Cell phones weren’t allowed, and neither Genesis nor Angeal had the clearance to get in to talk to him. They could apply for it – Angeal said he’d put in the paperwork already – but it would take time.

But he had to come out sometime.

She tried, halfheartedly, to take him sandwiches for dinner, thinking that maybe hunger would drive him out of his self-imposed prison. But it didn’t. His office and their home were empty.

Zack wasn’t answering his phone, and Angeal and Genesis were swamped covering Sephiroth’s share of paperwork in addition to their own.

So she sat on the couch and waited, the Turk in the background only adding to her deep loneliness. She tried to lift the pall from her home – she burned some incense, made tea, turned on the TV, cleaned the house and then tried to paint, but didn’t have the energy.

The only relief she found that night was the oblivion of sleep where she simply ceased to exist.

* * *

 

When she woke up she felt different.

She had energy now, and drive. The feeling wasn’t so much readiness for the day as it was the raw momentum to drive herself through it regardless.     

The little things helped her feel more in control. She got up, made her bed, showered, brushed her teeth, and dressed. Today these monotonous things gave her a sense of accomplishment. She was _moving_. Life was _moving_ , and she could accept if not enjoy the fact that she was being carried along its current.

The movement screeched to a halt as she opened her bedroom door to see the plate of omurice, untouched after two days, sitting alone on the table.

It was the straw on the camel’s back.

She screamed and heaved the plate of food at the wall with all her strength. It shattered on contact, rice and egg flying and the tomato sauce dribbling down the wall in thin streams that looked disturbingly like blood. 

“ _I can’t take it anymore!_ ” she screamed so loud that she felt her throat tear. “I hate you! _I hate you_! You blind, ignorant, selfish, egotistical, cold-hearted, frigid, unfeeling, prideful _bastard, you did this to me!_ I hate you. _I hate you! **I hate you!**_ ”

Hana didn’t even care that the Turk watched her rave and rant, screaming sentences in mixed Continental and Wutaiese at the wall, shaking, sobbing, heaving her fists and shoulders into the solid barrier again and again.

But years of shady and dangerous missions and a few ill-fated romances with women on the side had taught him well when it was time to call for backup.

* * *

 

She wasn’t happy to see him at all. When Genesis opened the door, Hana turned to look at him with wild eyes, narrowed in anger. She had a large shard of plate in her hand, and with him watching, she flung it at the wall in one last fit before she stormed to her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving a mess of egg, rice, what he hoped was tomato sauce, and shards of porcelain in her wake.

“Dear Goddess, help me,” Genesis sighed.

His first thought was to dial Zack, until he remembered that the new First Class SOLDIER had gone stone silent and hadn’t taken a call since he had been promoted. Sephiroth, though the problem was his by all accounts, had gone AWOL, and Angeal was back at the office, juggling all three of their workloads while he sorted this out.

He had volunteered for the task, he admitted, thinking whatever it was would be better than paperwork. He had been wrong. Apparently the Turk had not been exaggerating when he said that Hana had exploded.

“You can go,” he said to the Turk, who was all too happy to oblige. Shady dealings, constant danger, and gruesome death were all things that he had signed up for as a Turk, but volatile women, not so much. 

Not that he had either, he thought bitterly to himself. But he was stuck with it anyway.

He surveyed the scene, taking stock and trying to figure out the best course of action. He found his answer in a series of simple questions. Did he want to talk to her? No. Did she want to talk to him? Most likely not. 

So he decided against it.

Genesis helped himself to Sephiroth’s couch and turned on the TV. Embers, he reasoned, were much easier to work with than flames, and so he let her smolder and seethe out of his sight, where he didn’t have to handle it.

When the sports game he was watching took a particularly dull turn, he went to the kitchen. On the counter was Hana’s satchel of tea, and so he boiled water and helped himself.

It might have been the scent that drew her out, or maybe she had cooled enough to talk without persuasion from the tea. Either way, she emerged, exhausted, haggard, and humiliated.

“Sorry,” she said. “I really lost it this time.”

Genesis sipped his tea, regarding her over the rim of his teacup. “You’re only human,” he said.

“I’ll clean up.” Though she owed Genesis zero duty to do so, she worked quickly to right the house. Genesis suspected that it was less about being courteously clean for guests and more about erasing the evidence of her embarrassing rampage.

“Sakura,” Genesis said as she cleaned. “It’s one of the ingredients in the tea.”

She turned for a second to look at him before resuming her work, scrubbing the wall with a wet washrag in long, vertical strokes. “Yes,” she said. “How did you know? Did you recognize the smell or the taste?”

“Neither. I guessed,” Genesis said. “Given how important the flower is to Wutai.”

“Hmm. Lucky you.”

Genesis let her clean without further interruption, waiting for her to cool further. When she was done, she looked better. The weight was still on her shoulders but she bore it better now that she had released so much pent-up tension.

As she worked to clean, Genesis’s mind churned, mulling over an idea that had been nagging at him for the past few days.

“I have a solution,” Genesis said, “that may help you evade your father.” She probably thought it a diversion from the matter at hand. Truthfully, it wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Do I have to undergo extensive preening again?” Hana asked wearily.

“Not as extensive as last time.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Hana said.

“I told Blackwell that he could not best me,” Genesis said. “And he _cannot_. In this arena, _I_ am the master. At minimum, we will seriously stall his assault, and at best, we can turn it on its head.”

“Those are lofty words.”

“They are the truth.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she said. She hesitated, then shrugged. "But I’ll hear you out. I have nothing to lose.”

Hook, line, and sinker. It had been too easy, and they had both known before the plan was even presented that he was preying on her desperation to get her compliance.

He did wonder if she could really go all the way through with it, but it was too delicious an idea to let pass by without a good, solid go.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” was how he prefaced the explanation of his plot.

And Genesis’s smile was scaring her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Doushita no? - "What's wrong?"
> 
> 2) Tasukete - "Help (me)"
> 
> 3) Kotatsu - a table low off the floor. It is heated from beneath, and covered with a thick blanket that you put over your lap while you're seated. It keeps in the heat and makes it super warm. A traditional Japanese wintertime delight.
> 
> 4) Ramen - real, Japanese ramen is a full meal of noodles in rich broth, topped with meat, veggies, and boiled egg.
> 
> 5) Hai / Soudesu - Yes / That's right
> 
> 6) Yuzu - a citrus fruit that grows and is cultivated in Asia
> 
> 7) Sakura - cherry blossoms
> 
> 8) Kanzashi - elaborate hair pins worn by those rich enough to afford them. They come in a wide variety of shapes and materials. I have included the formal names for some different types in this chapter. I'm not very good at describing them so I suggest looking them up...  
> \- Kushi comb - A half-circle shaped, decorated comb  
> \- Kanoko dome - a circular hair ornament  
>  \- Tsumami falls - Individual petals of silk, glued along single strands of cord. Several are strung side by side to create a "waterfall" effect  
> \- Tama pin - probably the most familiar hair ornament, it looks like a smooth, painted sphere stuck on a chopstick   
> \- Ogi-bira - tiny, thin, metal plates strung side by side - sort of like the tongs of a music box. They jingle softly when moved. 
> 
> 9) Ittekimasu and Itterasshai - the traditional exchange when someone departs the house. It's something like "I'm taking off" and "Come back soon".


	33. Secrets, Spoken and Otherwise

Angeal turned the card over as the elevator doors closed, the hologram catching the light and reflecting it in a full spectrum of color. He’d worked all day and jumped through every hoop and red tape trap imaginable to get it. So much trouble for such a little thing.

“The floor you have requested – Records - is restricted,” a female recording responded.

After all that effort, the moment of truth where he slid the card through the scanner was disappointingly anticlimactic.

The floor buttons flashed green and there was a pleasant, electronic chirping confirming his clearance. “Access granted,” the elevator said, and he began to ascend.

He pocketed the card. Sephiroth had sure picked a good place to hide, but he had finally cracked it.

This floor was colder than the rest, he noticed immediately, and if there were windows at all, they were useless behind the steel-plated walls. The lights above were bright, their harsh gaze leaving no corner in shadow. The place was cold, sterile, and silent.

This was the place where ShinRa’s darkest secrets were kept.

He was greeted by two infantrymen – not rank and file, but in darker uniform decorated with badges and much more heavily armed. Wordlessly, one held out his hand. Angeal had been told to expect this protocol, and surrendered his phone, weapons, materia, regular company ID, and the special clearance badge he had been given.

When it was made absolutely certain that he was entering with nothing except for what was naturally under his skin and what clothed him, he was permitted entrance. The entire lengthy process of scanning and swabbing had been conducted in mechanical silence.

But he was in at last, and Sephiroth proved easy to find.

The records rooms were sectioned off by department, but the walls were made of windows from ceiling to floor to discourage anyone inside from trying anything mischievous. The ceiling was dotted with security cameras and mirrors to view around corners and eliminate blind spots. It really made Angeal uneasy to think about the type of information they were hiding in here, but that wasn’t what he had come for.

As it turned out, Sephiroth had not only come to this place to be unreachable. He was studying hard in the Science Department’s archives. Five towers of tomes on the desk and several more on the floor, neatly sorted for his purposes, were the only company he kept. He was reading, flipping the pages with one hand, and scribbling away in a notebook with another.

Angeal chose to believe that Sephiroth was so singularly focused on his research that he did not notice him come in, though it was equally likely that he was simply being ignored.

Angeal cleared his throat, and his friend’s furious scribbling ceased.

“Angeal?” Sephiroth asked, voice weary but tinged with surprise. The slight lack of composure was immediately righted. “Hmph, so you managed to get clearance?”

Angeal could see that he had come in the nick of time. Here, on his own, Sephiroth had once again driven himself to the brink of collapse. His eyes were red, ringed with ashen darkness, voice raspy from disuse. Angeal doubted the man had slept since he entered, and he was clueless about how he had taken care of his basic needs like food or drink. Knowing the ferocity of Sephiroth’s focus, it was likely he had fasted for most, if not all, of his stay here.

Besides the exhaustion, something was off about him, something reminiscent of how he had behaved at the gala, but Angeal couldn’t put his finger on it.

“It wasn’t easy,” Angeal said. “What have you been doing here?”

Sephiroth grunted and waved his hands over the records, not bothering to grace him with the obvious answer.

Angeal wanted to drill the man about what in all of Gaia could be so important to go on such a hunt, but it wasn’t what he had come for. “Well, it’s time to go home.”

“I have not found what I am looking for,” Sephiroth said. “And I intend to stay until I do.”

“No, my friend,” Angeal said. “You’re coming with me to get a hot meal, a hot shower, and a good night’s rest.”

“I am not coming with you until I have found what I came for.”

Any sane person would have let Sephiroth have the last word. Even starved and exhausted he was a formidable foe, and he knew how to put his foot down. But Angeal didn’t have the time to argue. He needed to be in Sephiroth’s apartment in twenty minutes, and Sephiroth had to be with him. He had expected resistance, and had come prepared.

“You will come with me when you hear what Hana is about to do.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Genesis?” Hana’s voice was soft, daunted by the task, but behind her uncertainty was an iron core. Genesis knew she would not let herself falter. She would do this.  

“Yes?” he answered. He knew she was looking for a distraction because it was too terrifying to focus on what needed her attention. This time, he decided to oblige her.

“I’ve been reading _Loveless_ these past few days.”

“Oh? Have you been enjoying it?”

“Yes. But—“ She shifted, uncomfortable in her high-heels. “I keep wondering, why is it titled that? _Loveless_?”

Genesis hummed softly. “In literature, there are always many answers. The most important question then becomes why do _you_ think it is?”

“Well,” she said, uncomfortable with more than just her shoes now. “I know most of the theories are about the three friends but I think that the title _Loveless_ doesn’t refer to them.”

“Oh?” Both of Genesis’s eyebrows rose high. His curiosity had been piqued now.

Beyond them, almost in a different world, they heard the applause, muted by thick and heavy curtains. The sound made her face harden, but the conversation was too intriguing to let die, and there was only precious little time left to get his answer. “Then, who would it refer to?” he prodded.

A light flashed green above them, and Hana stood up straighter, answering the call.

Genesis was upset that she wasn't answering him. This was fascinating, delicious. But she did have more immediate concerns and vexing though it was, he should not stand in the way of it. “You’ll do fine,” he said.

Hana took her place at the border of the shadows they now waited in and the blinding light beyond. “When the prisoner is wounded,” she said, “he is rescued by a woman. A woman from the enemy camp, even. And even though they live together, they aren’t happy. He is tortured by the past and she…” Hana trailed off, transfixed by the light.

"Ah," Genesis said, understanding. So it was as he had suspected. Literature, he knew, was often a mirror, and from the way she spoke, it sounded like she had seen a great deal of herself in that ancient text.

Moreover, the implications were positively _riveting_.

“The final act is missing,” Genesis said. “We cannot know that they remained that way, in the end.”

“But what if we’re not missing the ending at all? What if it’s right there staring us in the face, from the very beginning?”

“Your theory is fascinating and I must hear all of it, Hana. But it’s time. You cannot fail.”

“But—”

The music began to play, and at once she was drawn into the light.

“What if that is her ending?” he heard, a sorrowful question against such cheery music and anxious applause.

Tension built until at its peak, seven spotlights converged on Hana, who had only taken one step beyond the shield of the curtains. Against such light, Genesis saw only her silhouette, a cutout of shadow in a world of searing light.

Hana’s final whispers were almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd waiting to receive her.

“In the end…were they… _loveless_?”

Hana advanced and the crowd erupted, ecstatic to see her. Genesis’s heart swelled with pride. That smile could not have been more perfect if it had been painted, and he could full-on serenade her regal poise. He had trained her well, this time in more than speech and dress alone. He had calculated this moment to absolute perfection. He had drilled her on everything down to the slightest detail, tutored her until she had dropped of exhaustion on how the barest flutter of her eyelashes or the tiniest pout at the corner of her lips could seize the hearts of Midgar – nay, the world. Everything about the script had been meticulously, excruciatingly orchestrated.

Even, he thought with a dark smirk, the one teensy, tiny part that he had purposefully left _un_ orchestrated.

Hana may have been the one on the stage, but it was _his_ great magnum opus that was about to unfold.

Knowing she could neither see nor hear him now, he allowed himself a laugh.

“No, Hana,” he smirked in reply to her anguished question. “Not after _this_ , they won’t be.”

* * *

 

In the fields of war, Sephiroth had been ambushed more times than Angeal cared to recall. Wutai had thrown everything they had at him and more, be it explosives, fiends, or war machines that were three stories tall. Angeal had personally watched Sephiroth take the most unexpected, devastating blows in stride without so much as batting and eyelash. The man had an uncanny ability to almost simultaneously assess and adjust to nearly every imaginable situation. The turnaround time was so quick that if he did ever actually feel taken aback, any signs of it were wiped from his visage before any mere mortal could recognize it.

So when Angeal saw that such raw, blatant shock had not only _appeared_ on Sephiroth’s face, but _stuck_ there, he knew that Hana had managed to do the solitary thing that her husband could never, ever have either expected or countered.

Speechless, Sephiroth’s wide eyes were riveted to the television.

The scene was set. Anita’s Corner was an idyllic little living room adorned with wildflowers, lace, and large windows looking out to a painted image of distant prairie hills. In a yellow sundress and bonnet, Anita herself beamed like sunshine. Hana entered as a being from an entirely different world. She was dressed in midnight velvet, and further shrouded by the deep depths of her long hair. Though she wore the darkness magnificently, sleek and straight and cutting in movement as well as dress, she was not a figure of shadow. Instead, the light in her shone all the brighter for the blackness. The glow in her cheeks and eyes, the pinpricks of light from the silver adornments in her hair and dress, together with all the regal airs of nobility made her resplendent, radiant, in a way that Anita in her painted world of light could never be.

Angeal cast his eyes at his still dumbfounded friend and wondered where she could have gotten the idea for that look.

The men watched Anita greet Hana with open arms. The two women embraced before the hostess led her guest to center stage, where they both took their seats in lacy armchairs. For a long time, nothing could be said against the applause. Cameras switched to views of the audience to show the world how most of the people were on their feet. At the base of the stage some were clamoring to get closer, kept at bay only by guards hidden from the camera’s eye by the shadows.

_“What a delightful surprise it was,”_ Anita said, and at her words some of the applause finally died down, _“to get a call from this lovely young woman last night. We had a splendid little chat, didn’t we, dear? I had such a lovely time that I just couldn’t keep all the fun to myself. Thankfully, I didn’t have to because she agreed to be a guest on our show! For the first time ever, the people of Midgar get to speak with the woman whose story has entranced the world! Here on Anita’s Corner, we are going to hear from our very own, local princess!”_

The crowd went wild. “ _Thank you,_ ” Hana mouthed, smiling sweetly and bowing her head in response. _“Thank you._ ” Against the chaos in the crowd, her quiet presence was steady and calming.

“Why?” Sephiroth growled, voice low and heavy with the threat of violence.

“Because we were running out of options and time and you had gone AWOL,” Angeal said. He had limited sympathy for his friend right now, even though he had just taken a severe blow in a weakened state. Angeal gestured to the couch. “She’ll be on for a while,” Angeal said. “May as well get comfortable.”

“On _public television_? Why would she--?” His face darkened as he answered his own question. “Genesis,” he hissed, “is a dead man.”

Angeal was unfazed. This wasn’t the first time Sephiroth had threatened homicide and he still had yet to make good on it. “You’ll want to hear what she says now, they just finished the pleasantries,” Angeal reminded him, and Sephiroth’s mouth snapped shut. He stiffly took a seat on the couch and Angeal went to the kitchen to see about a meal.

_“So tell us a little about yourself, Hana,”_ Anita said. _“We have been dying to meet you!”_

_“I’m really just a country girl from Wutai,”_ Hana said with a small laugh. Her voice was stronger than anyone – Angeal and Sephiroth included – had expected. _“I’m truly not very interesting.”_

_“A strange thing to say!”_ Anita said, jumping on the bait. Though Genesis had assured Angeal that the vast majority of the proceedings would be scripted, it was hard to tell. The two women were great actresses who made it all look very natural. _“Not even a week ago, we learned that you were Wutai’s princess!”_ There was a small spattering of applause, but more distinguishable were the excited shouts and cat calls.

_“That’s why I’m here,”_ Hana said. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, back ramrod straight and shoulders squared, but head slightly bowed so her hair veiled her face in sorrowful shadows. It was a moving image that Angeal knew Genesis had carefully trained her to create.

_"The press has been releasing false stories about me,”_ Hana said. _“Much of what has been said about Sephiroth and me these past weeks has been lies, and we have been hurt for it.”_ She raised her head then, staring straight into the camera, her sweet smile not belying the slightest hint of venom in her voice. _“I have come to tell the world the truth, and end the madness myself.”_

The crowd cheered long and loud, rallied to her cause. Angeal raised an eyebrow. That was all it took? Sephiroth seemed skeptical as well.

Angeal had found some leftover Wutaian food in the fridge and heated it in the microwave. When it was steaming, he joined Sephiroth on the couch and set the plastic container on his friend's lap. Sephiroth grunted softly but ate as his eyes remained on the TV.        

_“We will gladly help you. We’ve wanted the truth all along too!”_ Anita said, taking one of Hana’s hands in both of hers. The audience heartily agreed. _“So let’s start from the very beginning: tell us the story of how you met your husband.”_

Angeal felt Sephiroth turn to stone beside him.

_“He was on a mission in Kuro, which might be the smallest hamlet in Wutai. The only thing of note there is my grandfather’s shrine,”_ Hana said.

_“What a miracle, to meet in such a place!”_

_"An unlikely coincidence, yes, but it was hardly a good thing. I was his objective, or at least, he thought I was at first.”_

_“He was sent to hunt you?”_ Anita and the crowd gasped with the thrill of the horror of being the infamous General’s prey. _“Was it because you are Wutai’s princess?”_

_“It’s not nearly that glamorous. He was searching for weapons being shipped through the area,”_ Hana said. _“I was traveling the country with a group of merchants, hoping to find a trade. I didn't know that my little caravan had overstocked on weapons, even if they were only for personal use. We had been traveling through the badlands in wartime, after all. Regardless, we looked suspicious, and Sephiroth had his orders.”_ Hana smiled wryly. _“Our first meeting was him taking me prisoner.”_

The crowd and Anita gasped as one.

" _But we cleared up the misunderstanding,”_ Hana said. _“And after we had settled the matter we just kept talking…”_ Hana drifted off and blushed furiously, averting her eyes from the camera while a girlish smile tugged at her lips. The smile, the slightest fidgeting, and the posture could all be trained, but could you fake a blush? Angeal didn’t know. Still, the way she was swooning and breaking off seemed very uncharacteristic. _“He was so kind and gentle, not at all like the stories said. I guess I...was a little smitten with him…and over time….”_

Angeal could only imagine the glee with which Genesis had penned that line, and how he was now roaring with laughter backstage. Angeal tried to cough away his own chuckles but Sephiroth was glowering at him anyway. “I had no doubt that you were such a gentleman,” Angeal said. It made Sephiroth’s mood noticeably worse but Angeal decided that it had been worth it.

Best of all, it was _working_. The crowd was eating it up, cooing and melting at the sight of the General’s love-struck bride. _“How dreamy!” “How sweet!” “Awww!!”_

“They bought that drivel?” Sephiroth asked in disgust. “She barely even answered the question.”

“Wasn’t that the point? They’re so wrapped up in this that they don’t even remember the question anymore. They’re too smitten to be suspicious of anything she said.”

Sephiroth grunted. He could huff all he liked, but this little act was placating the masses without disclosing any of their secrets. He was in no position to complain.

“ _And…that’s where we began,”_ Hana concluded. The audience clapped long and hard, fully satisfied with the uninformative but heartwarming answer.

_“And so on to the next question,”_ Anita asked before the applause had completely died out. _“Are you really Wutai’s princess?”_

" _It’s a huge exaggeration,”_ she said. _“I have a place in line for the throne, yes, but it’s distant. I’ve only lived in the palace for a handful of years, and I so much prefer life outside its walls. I would never, ever want to take the throne from Godo or his daughter, who will succeed him. The life of a princess wouldn’t suit me. All I want is a simple life of peace with my husband, here in Midgar.”_

“Clever,” Angeal said as the crowd applauded again. “She didn’t deny it, but downplayed it and moved on, distracting them with romance again. Genesis scripted it well.”

“Hmph,” Sephiroth said. “So it was scripted. I might have known Genesis wouldn't let her do it without his hands all over this." Now Hana and Anita were just talking about her dream house and her current decorating plans for her apartment. "The public will really buy this over the news?” he asked.

“Look at the crowd. They’re eating it up. Newspapers can’t give the people a show like Anita can. Honestly, this might prove to be one of Genesis’s better ideas. The press won’t dare go against her once she’s won their hearts.”

And the rest was just that – winning their hearts.

Hana talked about some of her favorite things in Wutai and told some heartwarming stories from her childhood. They talked about trivial things like the places she wanted to see on the Continents. The mayor of Midgar even made an appearance and formally welcomed her to the city. Laughter and applause was liberally applied throughout all the proceedings and all talk was kept carefully, deliberately, away from anything to do with Sephiroth.

There were only five minutes left in the program. By now, Sephiroth had relaxed, watching with mild interest, content that nothing of real consequence was going to be said.

_“It’s been such a joy to have you here with us on the show,”_ Anita said. _“But our time grows short. Still, we have time for one final treat!”_

Sephiroth straightened. Angeal looked to his friend and shrugged. _Paranoid_ , he thought.

_“Now, earlier today, we polled the audience about the one thing they would most like to ask you if they could.”_

Even Angeal caught it this time. Fear flashed unchecked across Hana’s face for one brief second before she resumed her pleasantly interested smile.

_“And you’ll have to forgive us. It’s such a silly little thing, but if you would indulge us we would be so very grateful…”_

The whispers in the crowd were growing. The camera panned over the expanse of people. They looked eager, hungry.

_“But we just heard so much about you, and nothing about your husband! The rest of us aren’t as fortunate as you to see him every day, and so we were wondering if you could give us just a tiny little glimpse of what he’s_ really _like._

_“Tell us what it was that made you fall in love with him.”_

“Stop this. _Now_ ,” Sephiroth ordered. 

“How?” Angeal asked. “Are you going to lay siege to the studio? There’s nothing we can do!”

“ _This_ was not scripted,” Sephiroth said. And Hana’s mounting terror was proof.

The crowd was chanting now, thousands of voices demanding their answer.

Angeal could picture the exact smirk Genesis would have on his face as he watched from the sidelines, eagerly waiting to hear how Hana would respond to the one question that he had deliberately not prepared her for.

* * *

 

Every alarm in Hana’s head was blaring. She couldn’t hear herself think over the noise in her own mind, let alone the din surrounding her, pressing her further and further back into a corner.

She looked offstage where Genesis was lingering behind the curtains. Thus far, she’d done everything without his help. Now, she was left high and dry when Genesis answered her distressful plea with a look of false bewilderment, shrugging as he held up the pink card that he had _promised_ held every last question that she would be asked.

He had straight-up lied. She just knew it.

Anita looked innocent enough. She was probably following the script, not knowing that Hana hadn’t been prepared for this part. It was all Genesis’s fault. Hana never, ever would have agreed to it if she had known that it would end this way.

_Why would he do this to me?! What does he want me to say?!_

“My husband is a very private man,” Hana said, giving resistance one last go even though in her heart she knew it would be useless. “He would not---“

“Oh, Hana, just something little! We wouldn’t want to pry, after all.”

_But that’s exactly what you’re doing!_

There was no escape from the scrutiny of every pair of eyes on the planet. There was only one way out and that was straight through it.

Slowly, she closed her eyes, summoning up an image of her husband. She pictured him with one raised eyebrow, as if he, too, was awaiting her response.

And so when she spoke, she spoke not to the world, but to him.

* * *

                

Sephiroth had risen to his feet and turned his back to the television, letting Hana’s words break across him like waves.

_“He loves to read,”_ Hana began, the crowd stilling as she spoke, perhaps the entire planet waiting with baited breath as to what she would say. _“Mostly nonfiction. He’s extremely well educated all around, but his favorite thing to study is the Planet. He reads a lot about geography, but also lots of touristy books. I think he really likes to travel. He gets souvenirs from every place he goes, too. Little trinkets that he keeps in a drawer, with a map with a mark for every place he’s visited.”_

“Really?” Angeal asked his friend. “I didn’t know that.”

Sephiroth said nothing, eyes wide as his secrets were laid bare.

_“He has a special bench under the window in our apartment. It’s so comfortable – I think it must be down cushions. He loves to stretch out in the sunlight and lose himself in a book. I think he likes its warmth, and sometimes, despite himself, he’ll fall asleep there. It’s okay because there are lots of pillows behind him for when that happens. He’s so peaceful there, not at all stiff and guarded like he is in public. His calm is…contagious. You can feel it to the marrow of your bones._

_“I don’t know why, but he much prefers quiet sound to silence. For all that he’s known as a silent man, he’s much more at ease with sounds or music in the background, and he really gets quite irritable if it’s too quiet for too long. Even doing the dishes or running the washing machine helps. He has a small noisemaker that plays the sound of the ocean waves as he sleeps. And on his wall, hung where he can see it as he lies in bed, is a beautiful poster of the ocean._

Despite Sephiroth’s scoff, the smallest half-smile played at the corner of his tightly pressed lips.

_“He’s much more particular about his toothpaste than his shampoo. He has an obsession with clean socks that I will never understand, and changes them two or three times a day.  He whispers when he sleeps. He hates the color yellow. He’s very particular about his nutrition but he has a soft spot for white chocolate, fudge, and cakes…but mostly for the ganache, I think.”_

The rooms – the studio and the apartment – were silent.

_“I—I’m not so sure I understand him better than anyone else. But I…want to. And I will…never stop trying to. Because…in the end…against everything I ever thought could happen…I--”_

A flurry of ice shards from a Blizzaga spell shattered the screen.

Angeal watched the TV spark and smoke wildly as the water got into the wires. It hissed and buzzed for a handful of moments before it exploded, pieces of plastic and glass and singed wires falling to the floor unheeded. No one moved to stop the machine’s inevitable demise.

“So,” Angeal said slowly, “I take it that all of that was true.”

Sephiroth’s silence was answer enough.

Angeal closed his eyes and silently sighed. There were no words, nothing he could say.

Genesis’s ultimate scheme was clear now. But it was cruel of him to have chosen such a public stage for Hana and Sephiroth’s relationship to play out on.

“From your wife,” Angeal said, taking the small box Hana had given him and setting it on the top of the couch. “I think you have a lot of thinking to do, and I’ll leave you to it.”

Sephiroth may as well have been made of stone. His face and eyes were unreadable.

“…But…” Angeal said softly as he headed for the door. “Maybe I should suggest that this time, your normal tactics of waiting and stonewalling will not work."


	34. From the Depths of the Heart

Hana only remembered snapshots of the remaining minutes of the show, one of which was Anita’s distinctively worried face. She was only barely hanging on, she knew, but at least she had the mercy of not remembering the bitter details of how she had failed.

Had Sephiroth seen all that?

When the cameras turned off she fled from the stage as fast as she could in her high heels, leaving Anita and the crowd behind without a second thought. If she stayed a moment longer in the limelight, she would burst. Backstage, in the dark isolation, the dammed torrents of emotion surged free. She leaned against a wall to steady her shaking, watching the concrete before her tilt and whirl. She consciously inhaled and exhaled with great effort but could not catch her breath, her heart racing in panic. Her mind was such a fiery, electric slurry that she could focus on little else except trying, and failing, to make sense of herself again.

One thought, time and time again, foiled all of her attempts at composure.

_Had Sephiroth seen all that?!_

Somehow, with Genesis as an escort, she had made it to the cab. The redhead was beside her the entire ride, wearing the most sickeningly smug, self-satisfied smirk she had ever seen. His presence was at least useful in that she could vent her rage at him as she was taken back to the ShinRa building. She only remembered about half of what she’d yelled at him.

Unfortunately, what he had said in response proved impossible to forget, lodged as barbs in her wounded mind.

“You backed out,” Genesis had said. “You couldn’t say it. Why?”

She had fought back, almost to the point of literally kicking and screaming. She’d ranted and raved. It was none of his business. He had lied to her. It was his fault for making her do it in the first place. He swept aside any resistance and dealt blow after blow.

“ _’I. Love. Him,’_ ” he had emphasized one slow word at a time. “Three little words – only one of true consequence. You couldn’t say them. _Why?_ ”

“ _Because they’re not true!_ ” she had screamed so loud that her throat had torn.

That terrible smirk only grew. Unlike her, Genesis had no need to raise his voice to cut clean to the bone.

“ _Liar_.”

* * *

 

Hana stared at the door to her apartment and rested her forehead against it. Inside was silent. It was late. Maybe Sephiroth had already gone to bed?

She knew better than to hope for that much.

When she opened the door, she was met with darkness. The lights were off, cloaking her home in shadow. Only the soft glow from one lamp spilled from the open doorway to Sephiroth’s study, and in the several feet of warmth, she saw the dark silhouette of her husband stretched long across the carpet. 

Hana closed the front door as softly as she was able, and took three silent steps toward her bedroom. Somehow, he had still heard.

“Hana,” her husband’s soft voice summoned, and she could not disobey.

She moved silently to the doorway of his office, half of her body in the light, and half in shadow and hidden behind the wall. She raised one hand and rested it on the doorframe at the level of her breast, holding softly to it, though the threshold did little to steady her. Words did not come. There was nothing in the world that she could say to take back what had already been spoken – and to the entire world, no less.

But he was speechless as well.

The realization that he was not silent out of anger dawned on her slowly, and as she grew more and more certain of it, she raised her gaze, degree by degree, until she was regarding him warily from beneath her bangs.

Sephiroth was sitting behind his desk, forehead resting in one hand. His eyes were closed as if asleep, but his face was not serene. There were the slightest creases in his forehead, his brows were lowered, and his lips were ramrod straight and thin.

From the scene, she could tell nothing about what he was thinking.

And so she waited for a sign. And watched.

And waited. And watched.

And waited until she accepted defeat. She spun wordlessly to retreat to her room, too empty to feel the pain.

“The science labs,” Sephiroth said.

The words stopped her. His low voice, warmer somehow, came from behind and enfolded her, gently drawing her backwards in the softest, most hesitant summons to reenter the light.

“…The science labs,” he repeated. “I was raised there. And when I was not being,” his lips tilted distinctively downward, “ _tested_ , the scientists had little use for me. For the majority of my childhood, I was left alone—in silence.”

Hana turned her head to look at him. Nothing but his lips had moved.

“Unconsciously, I learned that making small noises filled the void. I tapped my pencil, or my foot, if I had nothing else. It became a habit. It wasn’t until I joined SOLDIER that I realized what I was doing, and that it was considered abnormal. I have since retrained myself to stop. I thought I had rid myself of my aversion to the quiet since I left the labs but perhaps, as you have noted, some of it lingers still.”

Hana waited, blinking.

“Reading was my escape,” he continued. “Geography and culture books, especially, took me out of my very small world. I admit that travel was the only fantasy I’ve ever allowed myself, even as a boy.” He hummed darkly. “I might have enjoyed fiction and literature, but, as it was not considered conducive to my education, it was never provided. It might be why I still cannot bring myself to enjoy _Loveless_.

“I change my socks often because I had an unfortunate prank pulled on me as a Third-class SOLDIER, and because we were in the middle of a mission and I had no spares, I was unable to rid myself of the consequences for thirty-two hours. As a result, I learned the true value of clean socks. The toothpaste…for a similar reason, actually. My comrades did not think highly of me back then. Maybe because I was young, but certainly because I was different.

“And the chocolate…was Professor Gast’s favorite.”

“Professor Gast?” Hana asked, and it took a moment to recognize the soft notes of sorrow and loss in his voice. “You mean…the man you carved the boat for?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” She paused, hesitant to push but not wanting it to stop either, now that they were finally, _finally_ connecting. “And…you hate yellow?”

Sephiroth’s eyes snapped to her. “That is…not something I will discuss.”

“Sorry,” Hana breathed, lowering her eyes again. The trespass hovered, gaping, between them, and she didn’t know how to breach it.

But Sephiroth’s face softened. “You are observant,” he said. “Even Angeal had not noticed those quirks of mine.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Sephiroth said, and though she believed him, it brought her limited relief. “Not angry. I know it was Genesis who put you to it, and you said nothing of real consequence.”

“Oh. Okay.”

_So what now?_ She wanted to ask him. Where did this leave them? What did it mean? Instead, words failed and the silence stretched, tentative, between them.

“I have one question for you now, Hana,” Sephiroth said. He rose to his feet and walked out of the light and into the half-shadow where she lingered. He approached slowly, perhaps giving her time to run, or steeling himself to do it. She could not tell. She only knew that she was staring at his boots, face aflame. She saw his shadow shift, and for a moment, she thought she saw the silhouette of his wing at his shoulder, but when she raised her eyes, gasping, to look, there was nothing there.

As she looked up, her eyes were captured in his. His eyes swirled with the lifeblood of the planet, a foreign force as living and alive as he. She was spellbound by the movement, the color. It was unnatural, but bright and ethereally beautiful.

She could feel in her blood how very, very close he was to her. Only a breath closer and their bodies would have joined. The confusing and exhilarating warmth that she felt when he had swept her off her feet in Junon returned in full force.

Hana swallowed hard, and prepared to hold her ground.     

“What was it,” Sephiroth asked, “that you were about to say at the end of the interview?”

She’d thought she was prepared, but the question knocked the wind out of her.

Suddenly it was her move.

And she couldn’t make it.

“Nothing!” she said, insisting it to herself as much as to him. “Nothing at all! Just…playing my part after all.” She tried to laugh. It only made it worse.

She looked up to him. It did no good. For the three seconds that she dared to look him in the eye, she saw nothing. She lowered her gaze again.

“…I see,” was all he said.      

His soft words did not match the vicious slam her heart took.

_I’m such an **idiot** …! _But what could she say now? She had no answer. She didn’t know how to fix it, or even how to start over again.

_I blew it!_

But one ember still smoldered. He was still so close. After all that, he hadn’t drawn back.

If she reached out just the slightest bit….

She could imagine it. Vividly. She could imagine his warmth on her fingertips, and how, for just a moment, she could _feel_ him.

And then she realized it wasn’t her fantasy anymore.

His warmth was real.

Her hand was pressed flat to his chest.

She snapped her hand back and fled, scared of what she would see on his face, scared of what he would think or say, but terrified most of what was blossoming inside her. She ran from the light, she ran from his gaze, but try as she might, she could not run from herself.

She slammed her door behind her and slumped down with her back to it, breathing heavily.

_He didn’t run. He didn’t even say anything_.

_He just **let** me…_

_But he didn’t follow me either. Didn’t try to stop me._

_What is he **thinking** …?_

The dark silence held no answers. She had the feeling that it wasn’t even listening. Just as well. It couldn’t hold her emotions if it tried.

At some point she crawled to her futon and pulled the covers over herself. She didn’t know how long she waited in the dark, but fatigue pulled at her mind and her eyes. Gradually, she slipped into the twilit fringes of sleep.

It was then that one detail, lost in the heat of the moment, came vivid to her mind.

Sephiroth had not been wearing gloves. His hands had been bare.

And on his left ring finger had been the band she had told Angeal to give to him.

She couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, only stared into the darkness, and dared to wonder.

* * *

 

_It had been a long time since he’d dreamt of her, but none of the clarity of the memory had been lost to dormancy._

_He had been only eight or nine at the time, but already schooled in the art of the sword for five years. Even at such a young age, he had been strong enough to best several of the Thirds at sparring, and infantrymen were an outright bore._

_He liked the sword. He liked the dance of the katana, quick as the wind. It was the closest thing he could think of to flying…to freedom._

_But as he excelled, his captors found new ways to push his limits. Ways that made his blood run cold. Ways that made him stay up, shaking, all night long._

_So when the sedatives wore off and he found himself in a containment cell with only his katana, he knew trouble was near._

_He gripped the hilt, its shape and firmness reassuring. The leather had molded perfectly to every curve and crease of his hand – thinner where he applied more pressure in combat and thicker where he did not. He thought surely the one who knew him best was his blade._

_He knew from past experience that shouting would get him nowhere, and so he waited patiently, quietly. It was something he was very good at—something he spent a good portion of his life doing. His blade was steady and sure in his hand, so he was no longer alone._

_There was a scuffle above him, coming from a small entryway about six feet off the ground. He narrowed his eyes at the metal gate. So that was where his challenge would come from. He got to his feet and swung his sword in a wide arc. The metal sang in anticipation._

_But what dropped down was not a monster this time. It wasn’t even a cadet on an experimental rage drug or a materia-enhanced half-man._

_It was a girl._

_A girl his age._

_A girl in a yellow dress._


	35. When Time Runs Out

Angeal had fully expected things to be messy after Genesis’s little setup. He’d expected to see Sephiroth storm into work with a scowl and lock himself in his office and to not see Hana bringing him his usual lunch.

What he actually saw shocked him even more.

Sephiroth came in late, of all things, which never happened. The only way to keep the General from his work was extreme sedatives and lots of them. He didn’t say a word, only nodded briefly in response if anyone greeted him first, but his gait was somewhat normal, if less purposeful and slightly slower. Most surprising of all was that he didn’t fully close his office door.

If Angeal hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that it was _sadness_ in his friend’s eyes.

Angeal rapped his knuckles softly on the door to announce himself, even though the door was half-open. Sephiroth looked up from his papers. “Yes?” he asked.

“Good morning,” Angeal said.

“Hm.” Sephiroth slid a stack of papers into the center of his desk without taking his eyes from his friend. “Is that all?”

Angeal waited. Did he really need to say anything? Surely Sephiroth knew by now why he’d come to check on him.

Either he genuinely didn’t or he was doing a great job at faking it. Sephiroth wasn’t playing the silent game; he was actually waiting for an answer.

“…Yes,” Angeal decided belatedly. “Yes, that’s all. Carry on.”

Sephiroth looked a moment longer, but as neither man could decipher the other, he turned to his work. “I want your report on my desk by noon.”

“I’ll get on it.”

It was one of the most confusing exchanges that Angeal had ever had with the man.

And so he waited for lunchtime. No matter how bad things had gotten between them, Hana had not yet failed to bring her husband his lunch.

At eleven Angeal took a small break and noticed that the women’s bathroom was occupied. He honestly didn’t even know why there was a women’s bathroom on the SOLDIER floor, as all the SOLDIERs and officers were men, but maybe some of the female heads of departments came by from time to time. It was a small, one toilet room, and he’d never in all his time as SOLDIER seen the dial above the handle read “OCCUPIED” in red letters like it did then.

He hadn’t thought too much of it until half-past noon, when he noticed that Sephiroth still hadn’t received his lunch, and the women’s bathroom was still locked, light spilling out from the narrow gap under the door.

Genesis knew something was up when he saw Angeal put his forehead in his hands and sigh as they passed the bathroom. “What?” the he asked, taking a bite out of a dumbapple. Since the ordeal, Genesis had been abnormally normal and it was infuriating. The redhead followed his friend’s gaze, looked the door up and down, and smirked.

“This is your fault,” Angeal said. “You could show at least some signs of remorse.”

“My _fault_? I’ll have you know that my genius has devised this perfect plan to be the best thing that’s ever happened to this woe-struck couple.”

Angeal looked up and down the hallway. They were alone, for now.

He softly knocked on the bathroom door. “Hana?” he called, trying not to think about how embarrassing it would be if he had guessed wrong.

“Go away.”

“Well, well,” Genesis said, that annoying smirk of his only growing. “Why are you in there of all places, my dear?”

“I hate you, Genesis! I’m never talking to you again!” Hana cried, banging on the door from the inside for emphasis.

Angeal didn’t say anything to soften or dismiss that because he didn’t blame her one bit. “Genesis, I think you better let me handle this.”

“All right,” Genesis said, taking another bite of the apple. “Have fun,” he said as he dismissed himself.

Angeal waited until his friend had turned the corner to address her again. “Genesis is gone,” he said. “Will you come out of there now?”

“No,” Hana said.

Angeal grimaced, checking that the hallway was empty again. “Then, can I come in?”

At just that moment a Third Class came around the corner. Angeal snapped his mouth shut, but knew that the man had heard by the weird expression on his face just before he promptly turned around and went back the way he had come.

He’d pay for that one for sure.

But it worked. The lock clicked and the words on the door changed to a green “VACANT”.

He already had a witness that he’d asked to join a woman in the women’s bathroom, so he didn’t bother to see if anyone saw him go in.

Hana was sitting down on the tile floor, leaning against the base of the single sink and hugging her knees to her. Beside her was a square package wrapped in bright, Wutaian printed cloth.

Angeal let the door close behind them. He wouldn’t be able to tell if anyone was eavesdropping outside, but Hana didn’t know that was a risk yet, and she would require the privacy to speak. “Aren’t you going to take that lunch to Sephiroth?” he asked.

“No,” Hana moaned, putting her head down on her knees as she continued to shake her head. “I can’t. I can’t see him again. Ever.”

Angeal breathed out slowly. “What happened last night?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Angeal waited, and she groaned again. “Literally! _Nothing_!”

“…And that’s the problem,” Angeal concluded.

“I think so.” Her voice was very small and strained. “I don’t know anymore.”

“You love him.”

Hana abruptly stood and threw the lunchbox against the wall hard enough to break the plastic case. Curry ran down the white wall. “ _Yes!_ ” she wailed, sobs rising from her throat. “Yes, I love him, all right? You happy now? I said it! _I love him!_ I can’t…I just can’t… _it’s the worst thing that could have happened!_ ”

“Hana,” Angeal said, catching her by the shoulders. “Stop. Calm down.”

She came to herself quickly. She shuddered once, and then slowly sat back down again, staring at the mess she’d made. Angeal joined her on the floor.

“Love is a strong word,” Angeal said softly. “Are you…sure?”

“No,” she croaked. “…No. I…don’t know. I don’t know myself anymore. But…” She looked up at him, lost and confused. “What else could it be?”

Angeal took her and embraced her, pressing her head into his chest. She shook, but did not cry. “Every time I look at him I burn,” she whispered. “And…I dream of him every night. I dream of running my fingers through his hair, touching his cheek…his lips…and of resting in his arms. And I…I _want_ ….

“It hurts,” she moaned from the depths of her soul. “It hurts so much. I can’t do it anymore, knowing he will never….”

Angeal waited. It was a long time that she stayed silently in the protection of his embrace, gathering her strength and composure again. When she pulled away, her eyes were still dry.

“Hana—“

“Don’t tell me it’s a good thing!” Hana said, cutting across him. “I can’t do it. I can’t spend my life as his wife in name only while every moment I ache like this. And it’s not fair to him, either. If he doesn’t…it would be better if I just… Now. Today. Before…anything else can happen.”

Angeal looked down at her despondent face. She had endured nothing but pain since she had come to Midgar with Sephiroth. There had been slander and strife and heartache at every turn.

It was cruel, _too_ cruel, to ask her to stay after what she’d been through.

“Where will you go?” Angeal asked.

Hana looked up at him again, surprised. “You…you’ll help me?”

“Yes,” Angeal said, though it hurt to say it. “But take a moment and think. If you are _sure_ this is what you want, then I will help you escape.”

Hana rested her chin on her knees. “It’s not what I want,” she said at last. “But it’s what’s best for him.”

Angeal raised an eyebrow, the lack of the plural all too noticeable.

She could still question and deny it, but he knew what it was that had blossomed in her heart.

And he was starting to think that he knew how to get her to reconsider.

“Walk with me,” Angeal said. “We’ll head out of Midgar. And on the way, if you change your mind…” He smiled sadly, but got to his feet and extended a hand down toward her. “Then, I have to admit that I’d be much happier.”

“I’m sorry, Angeal. You’ve been a great friend. I’ll never forget your kindness.” She took his hand and followed him out of the bathroom.

There was nothing more he could do, but he was willing to bet that Ma would have the words to make her stay.

* * *

 

“Are you sure that Sephiroth doesn’t return your feelings?” Angeal asked her when they were well away from ShinRa.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hana said, hugging her coat tighter to her. “Of course he doesn’t.”

“Not even a little?”

Hana glared at him out of the corners of her eyes. “Stop it. He doesn’t.” She said it with such finality that he knew that arguing would be futile. The way she slammed the door on the conversation like that reminded him of someone else he knew.

The realization made him smile.

She followed obediently, treading through the snow and shivering beside him. She had taken nothing, not wanting to even see their apartment ever again. To keep her warm, he had grabbed an old, worn ShinRa issue winter coat for her and had insisted that she change into combat boots as well. She’d also taken a helmet to keep people from recognizing her. With that ill-fitting gear mismatched with her regular jeans, she looked like an infantryman that had tried to dress for work during a hangover.

“What do you want me to tell him?” Angeal asked.

“I don’t care. Say I died. In some way that there’s no body so he won’t bother looking. Fire is good, or eaten by a Marlboro.”

“…All right.” He didn’t know if he could tell such a terrible lie to his best friend, much less carry that secret for the rest of his life. And Sephiroth wasn’t easy to fool. He would probably guess what had happened no matter what Angeal said.

She took several steps and then severely added, “Don’t you dare tell him anything I said.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured her.

They continued their dismal march in heavy silence. It wasn’t until the pair was nearly there that she realized where he was taking her and spoke up.

“We’re going to Ma’s?” she asked.

He would have preferred that she realized later, when there was less chance for her to back out, but he had thought this might happen. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

“I guess,” she said after some hesitation. They continued the trek in silence.

Angeal was the first one to realize that something was wrong. They’d long since left the part of Midgar that received the most traffic, but the number of footsteps in the snow was only growing. Knowing that the izakaya received few visitors before nightfall, the revelation was alarming.

A large group of people had come through here, but he kept his findings to himself. It wouldn’t be fair to make Hana even more upset over something that was probably insignificant anyway.

But she was the one to find the next literal red flag.

At the head of the street that Ma’s izakaya was on, a pole was posted in the snow, and on it flew a red banner torn from some larger piece of cloth. On it, in black ink, was a detailed but poorly and hastily painted bird.

Hana stopped dead at the sight. “No…” she whispered. “ _No!_ ” And she broke out into a sprint.

His heart sinking into his shoes, Angeal followed her to the horror that they both expected would await them.

The izakaya was nothing but blackened posts lying akimbo, thick debris, and gray-white ash, the fire long since quenched. The wreckage was already disappearing under a thin layer of snow, as if the planet itself was trying to hide what had been done.

Angeal reached for his phone and dialed out of instinct. Hana did not hear who he was talking to.

Her world went dead silent except for the throbbing of her heart. She was drawn slowly toward the wreckage like a lead puppet, helpless against the command of the strings. The biting air came in through her mouth but she could not feel its sting.

“Ma,” she whispered. “…Ma? Pa?”

She stepped through what once had been the closest thing she’d had to a home in Midgar. “ _Ma!_ ” she cried again as panic began to seep through the blanket of numbness.

Her father had once again taken what she loved.

She fell to her knees, and then flat on her face in the snow. She stared at the white as her world tilted and spun. “Ma,” she called weakly. “Pa…”

The earth beneath her was soft, and through the haze in her eyes that blurred the world, there were flecks of green.

She reached toward those small points of color, and with effort, grabbed hold and pulled toward her.

In her hand were tiny, white blossoms on slender green stems amid her handful of snow.

_Snowdrops._

Her heart stopped as she remembered Ma’s words.

_“Flowers can’t bloom in the snow,” Hana said._

_"Can’t they?” Ma asked, and there was a knowing twinkle in her dark eyes._

_The look made Hana suspicious. “And nothing can grow in Midgar. This place…it is death.”_

_“I am Matsuko,” Ma said. “The ‘pine tree child’. And it has not been easy, but I have found life here, and grown.” Ma smiled, wisdom etched into the lines on her face. “And I believe you can too.”_

“Ma,” she sobbed as she looked at the flowers.

_“I believe in you. You are Yukihana. You are the flower blooming amid the snow.”_

“No…I can’t…it hurts…”

_“Pain,” Pa said, as she left, “opens the heart.”_

And Pa had been right. The pain finally overwhelmed her, and she spilled all the anguish in her soul into the bed of snow and blossoms.

* * *

 

_Sephiroth had seen great things in Wutai. There were places where the earth swayed in fields of green, coastlines with silver-white sands, mountains that pierced the heavens, and forests deep enough to consume a man. Though geographically small, especially in comparison to the continents, Wutai boasted some of the world’s true wonders. It seemed like everywhere he went there was something to appreciate, from the simplicity of a natural mako pool to the grandeur of mountains and canyons._

_But this place was the exception. If the gods truly had shaped the land of Wutai with their bare hands as local religion claimed, they had forgotten about this place._             

_It was only a few hours ago that Sephiroth and his men had started to see the decay of the land as they pressed north. The springy grasslands under the blanket of snow thinned to sandy dirt, the sparse vegetation thick, woody, and dry long before the winter had hit. That morning, they had been surrounded by grand mountains with brilliant snowcaps, but the rock giants here had no majesty. The only thing that could thrive in this place was snow, which had gotten only deeper as they had travelled. Snow – dense and heavy and tall – impeded every footstep his men took and every cycle of the wheels on the supply truck. They had already had to stop to dig it out twice._

_They now traveled through a narrow pass between two graceless, clumpy buttes, the wind whipping and screaming through the path cutting as sharp and cold as the edge of a blade._

_Even the desert had its beauties, but this wasteland had nothing except an abnormal capacity to sap the energy and morale of his troops._

_Sephiroth was in a foul mood because he had failed to calculate the lay of the land properly. Admittedly, the terrain had not been mentioned in his research, though he allowed that when the whole rest of the country was so remarkable, commenting on such an unremarkable place as this would be a waste of words. However, he had also been outright misinformed about the brutality of Wutai’s winters, and that could have been helped with five more minutes of research from the planning team at HQ._

_But it was too late for any of that now._

_And so he sat in the truck, reading maps and supply registers by the light of a single swaying bulb, trying to make the best of what his small company had left. Food, especially, was low, and if he had to impose rations morale would only sink further. ShinRa, unfortunately but not unexpectedly, had not adequately prepared them for such cold either. They had been assured that the cold and snow would be only a mild issue and their gear had been chosen accordingly. Now, if it snowed tonight, their lightweight tents ran the risk of collapsing under the weight of the snow._

_Losing men in battle was unavoidable, but losing men to the elements because of a miscalculation on the part of the supply team was unforgivable._

_Next time, he vowed, he would personally replace the entire supply team._

_The only solution he could draw was to have everyone sleep in the back of the supply truck for shelter. This would keep the worst of the cold away, but to conserve fuel, they could not keep the engine running for the heat. In addition, it would be incredibly cramped, but they would survive._

_It was going to be a long night._

_The truck lurched to a stop, throwing his back against the wall of the truck. He narrowed his eyes at the annoyance, but at least the light would be steady now._

_“G-Genral, sir?” One of the cadets had hopped on the back of the truck, and the cold wind from outside angrily stung the two men. Sephiroth could not tell if the man was shivering out of cold or fear. He probably looked more formidable than usual with the shadows flickering in the unreliable light of the bulb._

_“Yes, what is it?”_

_“A caravan, s-sir. We’ve intercepted them but there’s trouble.” The man shuddered, his posture faltering from the respectful attention position. ShinRa uniforms, while cumbersome and hot in the heat, did not shield cadets from the cold very well either. “Sorry. Bitter cold out there, sir.”_

_“I’m sorry, I am working on a solution presently. Tell the SOLDIERs that I authorize the use of fire materia to keep themselves and the rest of you warm.”_

_The man saluted. “Thank you, sir.”_

_"I’ll be out to inspect the caravan shortly. Until then, do not let them pass.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_Sephiroth started moving all he could to the sides of the van to make as much space on the floor as possible, but the commotion outside only grew and he knew he would have to finish later._

_He quickly assessed the situation as he exited the truck and made his way to the stalled caravan. There were four carts in all, pulled by old and weary horses. Sephiroth counted eight men, all dressed in work clothes and aprons with tool belts, suggesting that they were craftsmen. They were heatedly shouting at his troops, gesturing wildly back to the road. No translator was needed to see that they were very upset at the delay._

_The conflict stopped as he approached, his authority sweeping over his own men and the merchants alike._

_“Where is Jones?” Sephiroth asked after letting the silence settle. “He’s the only one who can speak Wutaiese.”_

_“He’s out scouting, sir.”_

_Sephiroth frowned. Though silenced, the merchants’ faces held contempt. He knew they were angry with being stopped by ShinRa troops without an explanation, and there was nothing he could do to communicate that he had to search their cargo. He did not want the tension to boil over into a fight over something so trivial, but he had his orders. His hope was that their fear of him would hold their rage in check._

_Still, it never hurt to try diplomacy first._

_“Do any of you speak Continental?” he called over the men. There were dark murmurs in a foreign tongue but otherwise no response._

_"Do any of you speak Continental?” he repeated, louder this time._

_“I speak Continental, General Sephiroth.”_

_It was the voice of a woman, her speech in his tongue flawless, but flavored with the accent of her motherland._

_The door of the second cart opened, and out stepped the woman. She was dressed in the robes of a miko, all but the front of her hakama covered by a cloak of straw to ward off the cold. She had a large, wide-rimmed hat of woven bamboo, from which fell a veil that flowed to her elbows and hid her face from sight. Unlike the merchants, she was not afraid of him, and stood tall and spoke with an air of authority that clashed against his own._

_“Himesama!” several of the men cried. One made a dash for her and tried to push her back inside, but she waved him away with a sweep of her arm._

_“What is it you want?” the woman asked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Miko - a shrine maiden, who distinctively dress as described in the text and below.
> 
> 2) Hakama - another form of traditional Japanese dress. Think the top of a kimono, sleeves baggy but not as long, and then a long skirt over top of it, tied above the navel-ish, maybe at about the level of the elbows. For a miko, the kimono is white, and the skirt a bright red.
> 
> 3) Himesama - "Princess". The ~sama suffix is the most honorary title in the Japanese language, used for presidents, emperors, gods, etc.


	36. A Pen Mightier than a Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested soundtrack for this chapter: The Original Pink Panther Theme

Zack watched the grayish snow hit the windows of the SOLDIER floor and wondered if winter would ever end.

At least it was a coherent thought. He hadn’t had many of those recently. Ever since his promotion to First, he felt like he was living his life in a gray fog. He trained, mostly. It was mindless, brainless hacking away, and sometimes his adrenaline levels got high enough that he started to feel something again – a distant cousin of thrill, perhaps. Angeal came to watch him in the booths now and again, but said nothing. What could he possibly say? That Sephiroth hadn’t meant to betray him? That they were both wrong, and Sephiroth really had promoted him for his skill?

He knew Angeal couldn’t give him any comfort because the man would not lie to him.

Still, it felt a little better to know he hadn’t been abandoned.

Work was slow. He had gotten away with just training for a long time, but today he was playing the role of paperboy. He wasn’t sure how it had happened either. He huffed out a breath and the window before him fogged. He shook his head and turned his back on the approaching storm. He wasn’t getting paid to mope around.

He had an armload of papers and files from Lazard that he needed to get to Genesis and Angeal (Lazard had actually said to get them to Sephiroth, but everyone knew that the General hadn’t been in his office in two days). He knew they hired errand boys to do the menial stuff like this, but his hurt pride was buried so deep in apathy that he almost didn’t feel it.

He wasn’t himself, and he knew it, but he couldn’t care.

He passed by the SOLDIER officers’ hallway without a second thought. It was only when he had taken several steps beyond it that he realized that he’d seen something out of place.

He backed up until he had a good look at the situation. A middle-aged, balding man dressed in a tan shirt and slacks was just outside Sephiroth’s office, locking the door and pocketing the keys.

No one had gone in or out of that office in two days. Zack’s suspicions arose.

“Excuse me,” Zack said, much more strongly than was courteous.

It was ever so slight, nearly invisible under the baggy uniform, but Zack saw his shoulder muscles seize up, and he jumped slightly at Zack’s call.

“What are you doing there?” Zack said, closing the distance between them.

“Custodian,” he said, voice slightly higher than Zack would have expected from a man his age. “Cleaning the General’s office.”

Zack looked the man up and down. “Cleaning?” he asked again. He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, which looked intimidating even though he was still holding the files he had to deliver. “…With _what_?” The man had no supplies on him. No chemicals, no vacuum or duster, not even so much as a paper towel. And it was illogical to be cleaning executive offices in the morning, when they were most likely to be occupied.

The so-called custodian’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a suspiciously guilty looking gulp.

Zack reached out to apprehend the man when a second man called, “Clark!”

Zack turned to find a second man, dressed in the same tan uniform, next to a custodial cart. “Sorry, sir,” the man said, dipping his head. “Clark’s new. He’s running behind schedule and forgot to check the General’s garbage can. I sent him back to quickly finish the job.”

“Oh,” Zack said. It was a plausible excuse. But still, the pieces didn’t quite click. Something didn’t feel right, but he didn’t have any evidence of anything fishy either. “Well…okay. Just do a better job next time. Sephiroth likes to be clean and orderly.”

Clark pulled at his collar and grinned sheepishly, then quickly scurried away after his colleague and the cleaning cart.

Zack watched them go, shaking his head to dispel his doubts. It made sense that they would clean while Sephiroth was out.

But when he stepped out of the hallway himself, the two men and the cart were completely gone. They couldn’t have run, because Zack would have heard them, and nor was the hallway long enough for them to have gotten down it in so short a time. He looked down the hallway at the half-dozen unlabeled doors – not offices, so they were probably custodial closets or mechanical rooms. It would stand to reason that they had gone inside one, except he was certain that he hadn’t heard a door open.

It didn’t sit right with him. Because he knew that no one would listen until he had disproved the obvious, he personally checked each closet, one by one in order.

The men were nowhere to be found, which made him dead certain that whoever they were, they were not custodians.

* * *

 

“I need to get into Sephiroth’s office. Do you know who has a set of keys?”

Angeal looked at Zack with that trademark stare that spelled disapproval and exasperation. “Why?” he asked.

“Well,” Zack rubbed the back of his neck. “Some guy just came out of there. And it seemed sketchy.”

Angeal raised an eyebrow. “Custodian?” he asked.

“Oh come on, can you just check in there? Something about it seemed…off.”

“All right,” Angeal said, picking up his office phone. “I’ll phone Lazard, he should have a key.”

Angeal leaned back in his chair while the phone rang. “I’m glad,” he said to Zack.

“What, that Sephiroth’s office got broken into?”

“No, that you seem a little more invested in work today.”

“Oh,” Zack said. “Yeah, guess it’s been a while.”

“Hmm,” Angeal said without disapproval.

Angeal’s office was smaller than Sephiroth’s, and rather plain, but it was nice enough. He had a window to let the light in, and though very little was on the walls, a big, stately desk and Angeal’s warm presence filled the space.

“Lazard, it’s Angeal. Zack reported that a custodian just came out of Sephiroth’s office. He said something about it was suspicious.” Angeal listened and then chuckled. “Humor me. It’s got him perked up again.”

Zack glowered at his mentor.

Angeal waited patiently, and then raised his eyebrows, all humor draining from his face. “Oh?” he asked. “Oh…yes, sir. You should probably let security and the Turks know too.” He hung up and stood up from his desk. “You might actually be on to something. No custodial work was scheduled for this floor today.”

“See?” Zack said. “I told you! I’m First Class now and you _still_ doubted me.”

“All right, all right. Let’s just see what turns up for now.”

* * *

“I _know_ what I saw.” Zack said, staring Tseng down.

“We’re not denying that anyone was in there,” Tseng said. “All we’re saying is that they didn’t do anything once they were in. There is nothing more and nothing less than what the General normally keeps in there.”

“It doesn’t make any sense! They had to have some kind of—“

“It’s good news,” Angeal said, cutting across Zack. “It’s _good_ that nothing happened.” Though Angeal looked at Tseng, Zack could feel the remark directed squarely at him.

Two Turks in trademark suits left Sephiroth’s office, their work complete, and Tseng waved them away. “I can assure you that we’ve swept the room for everything, Zack. Nothing is out of place.”

“Sweep it again!” Zack said, pointing back inside Sephiroth’s office. “Or at least let _me_ do it!”

Angeal sighed. “The Turks are satisfied, Zack. Maybe the custodian was just a fanboy wanting to see where Sephiroth worked.”

“I don’t buy it!” Zack said. “I approached him and he was scared. If he really was a custodian for the SOLDIER floor, he should be used to seeing us!”

“All right,” Tseng said, turning a wheel on his watch. “I’m returning to fill out a report. I’ll notify Sephiroth as well, and we’ll raise security for a few more hours. If you want to go in there, I have no objections, assuming that you are willing to risk trampling on the General’s privacy.” The implication of severe repercussions remained unsaid but was understood loud and clear.

“It’s his office, not his closet,” Zack murmured.

“Still,” Angeal said.

“You owe me for not believing me,” Zack said. “So cover for me.” And with that, he let himself into Sephiroth’s office and closed the door behind him.

He regretted shutting the door. The office was rather large, and dark. And knowing whose office it was just made it downright creepy.

But to reopen the door would be to admit defeat to Angeal, and he wasn’t about to do that.

He groped around blindly on the wall until he found the light switch. The lights dispelled the shadows but not the feelings of guilt over trespassing – or perhaps it was the fear of getting caught. He couldn’t tell.

“All right,” he said to himself. “Now, if I were a creep, where would I plant something?”

He started with the obvious. He opened every drawer in the desk and found only normal office things. All the trinkets, tools, and papers on his desk looked innocent enough. The file cabinets were locked and the invader was unlikely to have had a key to those anyway.

With all those places eliminated, only the creative options remained.

He opened up the heater vent in the corner, but the only thing he found in there was a lungful of dust. Coughing as he stood up, he kicked the grate back into place and groaned. “He had to come in here for a reason….”

There weren’t many places to hide, he finally admitted to himself. Knowing Sephiroth, he’d probably planned his office that way on purpose. He patted the square cushion on the chair across from Sephiroth’s desk, and couldn’t feel anything inside. He dropped it back to roughly where it was and sighed in exasperation.

He wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. He instinctively began doing squats as he thought.

It was as he was coming up from a squat that the answer came.

Above Sephiroth’s desk was a vent on the ceiling.

“Ha!” Zack said, pointing at the grate. “Gotcha!”

He sprung up from a deep squat into a powerful jump, sticking a perfect ten-point landing with both feet on Sephiroth’s desk. He got to work immediately. He’d never appreciated how tall the ceilings in this building were. He stood at six feet, on a desk, and he still had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the grate. Still, with a little shuffling around and a jump or two, the thing came free. “Haha!” Zack cried in triumph, ripping the vent away with a flourish.

With a great _fwoosh,_ torrents of dust rained all around him.

Apparently, Sephiroth’s cleanliness did not extend to flushing out the vents.

He stood stupidly on his superior’s desk, covered in dust, and holding a useless metal grate in his hand.

He flung the grate aside and looked down at the mess on the desk. Now, after his enthusiasm had been replaced by shame, he realized that it had not been a good idea to jump on Sephiroth’s desk in his combat boots. He did excuse himself from the dust, as really, that hadn’t been his fault. Completely, anyway.

He stepped down with one foot and, as he pulled the second off, files and papers fell to the floor along with his foot.

And that’s when he saw it.

ShinRa folders were manila. He’d seen enough of them to know. Some were coffee-stained manila, or “just got out of weapons training and too lazy to clean up” manila, but all were recognizably, predictably, manila.

This file was bright, neon green.

He stared at it as it sat on the floor amid its manila counterparts for a long time. He’d already wrecked Sephiroth’s office, how much more trouble could he get into, really?

It wasn’t ShinRa issue, of that he was sure. The label was handwritten instead of printed, and the papers were slightly yellowed with age. And as little sense as it made that someone would plant a _file_ into Sephiroth’s office, it was sort of clever at the same time. It wasn’t the sort of thing that would be looked for in a scan. The Turks, if they had seen it at all, had probably just assumed it was his personal file.

Zack was the only one with the audacity to go through his superior officer’s paperwork. He could scarcely imagine what dastardly mischief would have transpired without him.

Angeal knocked. “Are you done messing up his office yet?”

“You don’t know that I did!” Zack said.

Angeal had let him pry this far, but he knew he would not approve of him going through Sephiroth’s files. Swiftly, he pulled his sweater out from where it was tucked into his pants, intending to shove the file up his shirt. However, the action released a puff of gray dust, and Zack sighed as another problem became clear: he looked like a walking statue after his dust shower.

No matter how fast he ran, Angeal wouldn’t miss _that_. Worse, he would leave a trail, making escape impossible.

But Zack was only baffled for a moment. The Goddess truly had favored him, because just that week, he had purchased a brand-spanking new Aero materia, and it was still tucked in his bracer. For the first and likely last time in his life, he was glad that he had such a low-level materia on hand.

Zack checked and double checked and _triple_ checked the door to make sure it was closed before he stripped down to his boxers, trying very hard not to think of where he was or what would happen to him if he was caught as he did so. It was necessary; there was just no way he was going to cast _any_ offensive materia on himself. That would be stupid.

While his clothes were off, he also vigorously shook out his hair, finding himself more than slightly amused by the way the dust fell to form a perfect little dust cone on the floor.

He draped his uniform over Sephiroth’s chair and readied his materia, which seemed to be singing in his palm. He was proud of himself for his ingenuity. With a little luck and a little Zack-style problem solving, he’d be well on his way with the file with no one the wiser.

The spell he wove was perfect, flawless. He deserved to be promoted for that cast alone. With no more than a modicum of effort, the winds gathered around his palm and then extended out towards his clothes, the dust flying away and leaving his uniform as black as the moment it had been presented to him.

Unfortunately, Zack realized far too late, an Aero1 spell was still pretty powerful, and on its glorious path, it had picked up everything on Sephiroth’s desk.

This time, it rained paper.

Pens and a clock and a phone went for a dramatic spin before plopping unceremoniously into the piles of dust. The papers had a more graceful descent. Stacks and stacks and stacks of neatly sorted files on Sephiroth’s desk had been turned into confetti, drifting peacefully downward with light, whispered breaths.

If Angeal didn’t hear that, he certainly heard Zack’s extremely colorful outburst.

“ _Zack_ ,” Angeal said in his warning voice.

Zack almost made a break for it then, but remembered in the nick of time that he was in his boxers. He shoved himself into his uniform and then rammed the green file up his shirt. With some hasty fidgeting, he got it to stay relatively put above his belts. It was uncomfortable to have that stiff stack of stuff pressed so close to him, but he couldn’t think of any other options at the moment. There was no mirror to check, but he felt like it was thin enough that it wouldn’t show too much. Or at least, he hoped it was. There was no time to do anything else about it anyway.

He turned out the lights and exited, shutting the door behind him quickly so Angeal wouldn’t have a chance to get a glimpse of the inside. “See?” Zack said. “All clear. Even I’m convinced.”

“You’re _never_ that easy to convince, Zack.” From his mentor’s lowered eyebrows, he knew he had aroused his suspicions.

Zack grinned widely and slapped Angeal on the shoulder. “Lighten up. I can admit when I’m wrong. Gotta fly, catch you later!”

He waited until he was around the corner of the hallway before he peeked back. “Oh, and you might want to get a custodian in there. A real one, this time.”

He hightailed it out of there before he could hear any more of the reprimand than his shouted name.

* * *

 

It was only that night, when he was alone in the barracks, that Zack was able to look at the file. He knew it was a terrible trespass, but something was driving him to do it. There was something eerie about the folder, and though he would brush it off as nothing, he couldn’t shake the whispers just out of his range of hearing – a woman’s voice calling from a world away.

He was filled only with foreboding as he opened the file, meant for Sephiroth’s eyes, labeled “The Jenova Project”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm...is Zack TOO much of an idiot in this chapter...?
> 
> No Zacks were (or will be) permanently harmed as a result of the above proceedings.


	37. The Departure

Now it was Sephiroth’s turn to dwell in an eerily empty apartment.

The days since Ma’s izakaya had been burned to the ground had changed Hana. He knew it before he had even been told the news, when she had stormed in, wordlessly grabbed the gun she had once named _Baka_ , and stormed out. Now, she spent her days and nights locked in the Turks’ Training Rooms, training with her gun in either deadly silence or screams of agony masked by furious bloodlust. Hour after hour, without rest, she exacted her misplaced vengeance on the dummies with stunning ferocity. Even the Turks gave her a wide berth or trained elsewhere.

Sephiroth checked on her every now and again, but took no action to either encourage or discourage her rampage. Once, late at night, when he found her collapsed awkwardly from sheer exhaustion, he had draped a blanket over her shivering body. Other than that, he had not approached her. He doubted that she had even ever seen him from the booths where he observed her in silence.

Life went back to what it had been before his marriage. Blackwell was absent, leaving behind plenty to speculate about but nothing concrete to work with, and the Turks had no word of what had happened to Ma or Pa. With these distractions gone, it was back to keeping the mundane cogs of bureaucracy running – reports, assignments, briefings, and pushing paper after paper after paper….

Sephiroth worked longer hours, no longer having any reason to return to the apartment, and never having a shortage of work. He ate at the cafeteria when he was hungry and sparred when he needed a break. Angeal and Genesis trudged through the days with him, living off coffee and the promise of a new, harder training sim that might offer a bit _more_ of a challenge, if not an actual challenge.

In spite of all that was happening, life was beginning to feel normal again.

And he hated it.

Sephiroth slid a bookmark into the text he was reading and set it aside. He had returned to his apartment for once, hoping to relax, but he could not focus on the words today, and stared out the window instead. Hana had been right – he really could not stand the quiet.

He stood and took up his sword. He had already trained that morning, but it would be a distraction to fill the time, if nothing else.

He had exited the apartment and was locking his door when his cell phone rang. He traded his keys for his phone, not pausing his departure from the residence floor. “Tseng,” he said curtly in greeting.

“Sephiroth,” Tseng returned. The two men held mutual appreciation for each other’s brevity. “There is news.”

“About Matsuko?”

“Matsuko, and the court of Wutai.”

* * *

 

Hana had lost count of how many shots she’d fired. She’d thought that the more she shot, the better she’d feel, but she had been wrong. Even she didn't really know why she continued her rampage.

But continue she did. It was not enough to take out every last dummy, she had to reset the program, do it again, and again, faster…faster… _faster_.

Day and night meant nothing in this place. She slept when she collapsed, ate or drank when her vision blurred. She knew she was past her limits. Her body cried for her to stop, but her soul cried louder, and so on she danced with the phantoms of her pain.

It continued until a hair-thin streak of silver flashed into existence, striking her bullet and casting it aside as easily as a swatted fly. She stared at the place that the bullet had deflected, searching in vain for a residue of evidence in the smoky mist to explain what had just happened.

She had been surprised enough to cease her assault, and once she stopped, she began to feel. Sweat was dripping down her face, plastering her bangs to her forehead, and her entire body was bathed in its salty sheen. Her chest was heaving, her sides splitting in pain, and breathing was so difficult that she was close to choking on each breath.

“Enough, Hana,” a dark voice called.

She wavered, but raised her gun to begin anew.

“I said _enough_ , Hana,” and she staggered as the room was flooded with light. The cool mist dissipated in the warmth, and the dummies circled around her and then were retracted, rank and file, into the ceiling.

In the wide, empty gymnasium stood only her and her husband, his blade drawn and shining in the light.

“Why…?” she asked, and her voice was hoarse. She grimaced and cleared her throat to try again so she would sound as angry as she felt. “Why did you stop me?”

“Because you are on the verge of collapse. This has gone on long enough.”

“I can ta—“

It was so quick that all she saw was a blur of silver – whether from his blade or his hair, she could not tell – but then he was behind her, and she was locked against him with one iron arm across her abdomen and the terrible length of his blade ghosting perpendicular to her throat.  

“Yield,” he hissed, his breath warm in her ear. The power of the command drove the breath from her lungs.

Her gun hit the floor with a clatter.

Now that she was disarmed, Sephiroth released his hold. She slid to the ground, body heaving and shaking as she fought even to remain on all fours. Having lost all her momentum, her hunger and fatigue finally caught up with her, hitting her like a brick wall. She could not hold back a groan as gravity pulled her down, down, where she wanted to stay forever.

“Drink this.”

The water bottle he gave her was filled with a bright blue liquid. She took it without a word and drank it down so eagerly that she almost didn’t notice how bad it tasted. Whatever it was, it stopped her uncontrollable quivering and sent shots of icy energy surging through her veins. It was equal parts uncomfortable and energizing.

“We have work to do.”

Hana raised her head to look at him through the limp lengths of her black hair. “What?”

“The Turks found a witness. Before they burned the izakaya, men dressed in black took Matsuko and her husband from the building. They are likely still alive, though captive, and kept in a mansion in the capitol city that your father uses as his base in Wutai.”

“They are alive…?”

Sephiroth didn’t allow her to process it fully before handing her a scroll of red and gold. “And this came from the imperial palace.”

Numbly, she took the scroll and unfurled its lengths. The paper was thick, and the calligraphy hand-painted. “It’s…a summons. From Godo.”

She gently rolled up the scroll. “I have to go,” she said. “Back. To Wutai.”

“We leave immediately.”

“We?”

Sephiroth took the scroll from her and waited until she had pulled herself to her feet. “You were going to storm your father’s fortress yourself?”

Hana stared at him blankly. Had that been a joke?

“And,” Sephiroth said slowly, “I received a direct summons from the court myself.”

“Oh,” she said, and her face fell as she began to understand. “ _Oh_ ….”

“Regardless,” Sephiroth said. “We leave at dawn. And don’t forget your gun. You will likely need it.”

* * *

 

“It’s not like you need _our_ permission,” Genesis said. “You’ve done whatever you’ve wanted ever since that girl got here, which, I may note, has _not_ included _any_ of your duties at SOLDIER.”

Angeal shrugged, a small smile betraying that he secretly sided with his redhead friend. “If that’s what you need to do, we will do our best to help hold down your fort.”

“ _You’ll_ do that,” Genesis corrected. “I’ll have a hard enough time helping myself with all his work on my plate.”

The three SOLDIERs could hear Hana in the other room, murmuring to herself in Wutaiese as she gathered her things. Her urgency was contagious, and the air in Sephiroth’s apartment was heavy.

“I’m sorry to push this on you… _again_ ,” Sephiroth added when Genesis sent him a glare. The addition seemed to placate him somewhat. “But Hana and I have to get to Wutai, quickly.”

“How long will you be there?” Angeal asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t even have a guess.”

“You know Blackwell’s still somewhere here in Midgar, wreaking havoc under the surface,” Genesis said. “You’re just leaving him to us?”

Sephiroth pressed his lips into a fine line. “My sincerest apologies. I will be in contact with you about everything. I will do as much as I can to hinder him overseas, at his base. Tactically, this may be the best course of action, as I gave up most of my political power here anyway.”

“We have the authority that you had,” Angeal said. “And we’re on your side.”

“Speak for yourself,” Genesis muttered, but Sephiroth knew better. He knew that under the redhead’s act burned a loyalty that Sephiroth had and would entrust his life to.

“ShinRa approved this?” Angeal asked.

“No,” Sephiroth said. “I pulled my last strings to get us out. I know I am overstepping my boundaries, even with the leniency given to Firsts.”

“With things the way they are now,” Angeal said, “it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission. ShinRa knows they’re losing you. They’d never let you go.”

“I remain loyal to SOLDIER, Angeal, I just—“

Angeal answered his friend by gesturing toward Hana’s bedroom, where her furious efforts to locate everything she needed could be heard. “ShinRa’s not first on your list anymore, my friend.”

Sephiroth’s eyebrows lowered and his eyes darkened. “Regardless, I know I’m leaving you in a political mess.”

“You’ll get one over in Wutai, too,” Angeal said, clapping Sephiroth on the shoulder. “Take care. Come back safely.”

Sephiroth nodded.

“Anything to add, puppy?” Genesis asked.

Zack sat quietly at the kitchen table, silent as to the proceedings of the conversation. Hana had served him tea, which he was sipping absentmindedly. He had been distinctly out of sorts as of late. Several times, Angeal had found him still as stone, just staring. Even stranger, once he caught sight of him clenching his ears and violently shaking his head, murmuring darkly under his breath. Angeal had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he _had_ found something in Sephiroth’s office, but had no idea what it could have been to create such a sudden and disturbing change in him.

“…Or are you still embarrassed about trashing Sephiroth’s office?” Genesis asked.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. Zack glared at Genesis. “How did _you_ find out about that?”

Genesis flashed a brilliant smirk at Zack, happy to have provoked a response.

“What happened to my--?” Sephiroth shook his head and held up his hand. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“You got off easy, pup,” Genesis said.

“There’s _nothing_ you want to say to Sephiroth before he leaves?” Angeal crossed his arms over his chest, putting the pressure on.

Zack only became more defensive, clamming up just like he had every other time that Angeal had tried to get to the bottom of his mood change. “What would I have to say?”

Angeal sighed, aware that the exchange between him and his pupil was only confusing everyone else. “Apparently, nothing.”

“I would speak with you in private for a moment, Zack,” Sephiroth said. “If that is all right with you.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Then we’ll go,” Angeal said. “Keep in touch, and be careful. Blackwell will find out you’ve left soon, and I doubt he’ll let you go so easily.”

“I anticipate trouble. We are prepared.”

“Despite how you’ve treated me, I don’t have any particular desire for you to come to harm. I do not withhold my usual best wishes,” Genesis said casually. “May the Goddess protect you and such.”

“Thank you, Genesis. We will need it.”

And that was all that was said except for curt goodbyes at the door. Both men said a few parting words to Hana, who sent them with her blessings and a deep bow at the waist.

The men were accustomed to this. They parted for various missions and assignments all the time. It was in the job description. It was normal.

But something about this farewell felt different.

Something about it felt… _final_.

* * *

 

“Zack,” Sephiroth said when the other men had left. “I know you don’t understand why I promoted you—“

“I think I’m starting to, actually,” Zack said, giving a shrug. “I don’t _like_ it, but I see why you had to do it, too.”

Zack might have been able to read his commanding officer by the flickers in his eyes, but the general closed them, and his face was as cool and solid as marble. “…I am sorry, Zack. I did what I did knowing that your trust in me would be a casualty. As a General, I have a duty to protect my men as best I am able, and in this, too, I have betrayed you.”

Zack shrugged again. In his eyes, the conversation was useless, even if Sephiroth really meant those apologies. “You’re in a rough spot,” he said. “I can’t say I forgive you, but I can understand you, at least.” He took another sip of his tea. “And…I know you didn’t do it for yourself, either.”

Both men looked into the bedroom, where Hana was closing three suitcases.

Sephiroth nodded. “For now, I will be content with that.” Sephiroth set a ring with two keys on the table in front of Zack. “These are to my office and the materia safe inside.”

Zack’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head, the action jolting him back to his usual level of excitability. “No way…for real?”

Sephiroth chuckled darkly. “Yes, _for real_. I would not have you face your task ahead without being properly armed, at the very least.”

“But you’re the one headed—“

“I have taken what I need for our mission. The rest is yours. Use them with caution. Such powerful materia is bound to raise ShinRa’s suspicions.”

“Sweet Gaia,” Zack breathed, dangling the keys before his eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“Don’t destroy yourself. It is very possible to do so. SOLDIERs far more experienced than you have met catastrophe with them.”

“Oh yeah, no sweat. I can handle it.” But Sephiroth was not convinced, and he felt rather like he’d entrusted a large bomb to an overgrown toddler.

“…Very well, then,” he conceded. “Is there anything else you need to discuss with me?”

Zack paused, taking his eyes off the keys and then putting them down on the table. “Well…” he said. “Kind of. Maybe. I found a…a uh….” His face contorted into strange expressions, and his mouth opened several times without noise.

Finally, he gave up, shaking his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.” The answer was a long time in coming, and it raised Sephiroth’s suspicions.

“All right,” Sephiroth said. “If that’s all, I wish you the best.”

He extended a hand to Zack, which the man took and shook firmly. With his free hand, Zack clapped his commander on the forearm. “You take care,” Zack said. “And watch out for Hana. I’ll see you again soon.”

Those last words had fallen out thoughtlessly, and they turned the air bitter. Zack bit his lip, wishing he could take them back. Sephiroth himself seemed to sober knowing that he could not respond to them – he could not say that they would ever see each other again, much less soon.

“First Class SOLDIER, Zack,” Sephiroth said. “…Do what is needed.”

Zack left his commander with a slow, two fingered salute. “Yes, sir,” he said in reply.

* * *

 

The file was gone.

Zack had scoured his own half of the bunker, and then raided his companion’s. He searched everywhere. He stripped the sheets off the beds, dumped out the contents of every drawer, and tore open every bag or piece of luggage he could find.

It was useless.                

It was gone.   

And he knew he hadn’t misplaced it. He kept it in his pillowcase, and had always constantly, compulsively checked that it was still there. Only now, after he had returned from leaving to say goodbye to Sephiroth and Hana….

In the sty he left in his wake, he shouted his frustration.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t tell Sephiroth about the folder.

He didn’t know why every time he opened it the name _Jenova_ rang in his head for hours.

He didn’t know why he had been haunted by a ghostly blue woman in his dreams last night, submerged in mako, her shrill cry piercing him to the soul.

_"HUMAN FILTH. YOU WILL PAY.”_

He didn’t know why someone had been so careful to place the file where only Sephiroth would see it, and then so meticulously steal it back. It had messed him up for sure. Had someone been trying to get inside Sephiroth’s head, too?

Zack shook his head. It didn’t matter. Sephiroth was leagues above Zack in every imaginable way. Surely, that file wouldn’t affect Sephiroth the way it had affected him.

…Right?


	38. Whispers in the Mountains

“Months,” the man said, hissing the word through black teeth, angrily spitting a wad of tobacco to the side. “We’ve been sitting down here, _starving_ , for _months_.”

Murmurs rippled through the group, and several rapped tin spoons on unused plates in agreement. It might have been a roar had the motley band had any more energy than they did.

“ShinRa troops everywhere,” the man spat, “as if to mock us. We could have moved months ago, and traded places with those ShinRa dogs.”

The response was weaker than the last. Most men were slumped over, trying to sleep in the frozen filth of the streets. The plate kept the snow out, which likely saved their lives at least, but the temperatures were still bitterly low. For men with nothing more than threadbare trousers and shirts to call their own, the place was dangerous. Every night, the cold whisked another away.

“We wait for the order.”

This voice, in stark contrast, was clear and strong. Most took the lash of resistance in silence, too exhausted and sick to fight. This man lingered in the shadows, seated regally on a chair propped up against the last standing wall of a hovel. His face and hands were clean, and he was dressed in a wool trench coat from his throat to the top of his knee-high leather boots, a fur hat on his head and a cigarette bobbing up and down in his mouth.

“No more!” the pauper said. From all his conviction, he might have made a strong backlash, if he had not fallen to a fit of coughing just after. “We’re starving. We’re tired and cold. Men die every night. This isn’t what we were promised. We’re leaving our homes and families to join this sad excuse for an army, and you have the nerve to treat us this way?”

“A convoy will bring supplies soon,” the shadowed man said, taking a long, leisurely draw on his cigarette and slowly exhaling a wisp of smoke. “As for your homes and families,” the man scoffed and shook a scattering of tiny embers into the frozen wind, “it’s not as if you really had much to leave behind in the first place.”

Still murmuring, the man held his peace and sat down on the barren earth. Beside him, a boy with dirty blonde hair looked up at him with large, brown eyes. “Papa,” the boy whispered. “Why don’t we go back? Why don’t we go back to Sissy?”

“Because this man’s going to get us a home,” the man said, grunting. “We have to do our part and fight, but then we’ll be living a better life.”

“Up on the plate?”

“Yeah. Up on the plate.”

The boy bit his lip. “Is that man bad?” Young as he was, he knew better than to point to the figure lounging in the shadows, as if languishing in a summer paradise only he could feel.

“He’s stark mad, son,” the man whispered, lowering his voice to a breath. “He’s going to take on the General himself. No loss to us when he loses.” The man gave a small smile and ruffled the boy’s hair. “We’re using him. He’s going to get us revenge on ShinRa, and then we can get a life out of the slums.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “But…the fight…”

“You don’t worry about that now, son.”

“But what if the others are right and we really do have to face Seph—“

“It won’t happen. Now go to sleep and dream of the big, warm house waiting for us.”

The boy still looked uncertain, but lowered his head to the dust and closed his eyes.

It was when the man was settling down to sleep that he noticed the shadow figure’s gaze right on him. He was grinning, teeth gleaming in the insidious half-light.

“You don’t think I can do it, eh?” The man chuckled, low and deep and deranged. “Watch me. It won’t be long now.”

* * *

 

Hana and Sephiroth boarded the helicopter in the early pre-dawn hours, having a long day of travel before them. There was nothing to say goodbye to, and she had no regrets that in the darkness, all she could see of Midgar as she departed were the city’s twinkling lights. Better to think of it as a city glittering like a treasure box than a hive of filth filled with people who would use, even kill, both her and her husband. Soon enough, the dawn would reveal the truth anyway.

Hana dozed at first, then resigned herself to wakefulness and watched two continents fly by beneath her in a daze. As grateful as she was, it also felt surreal to be returning to her homeland, and under such circumstances.

Sephiroth was silent as well, sitting in a seat not even two feet from her own, but he was hardly dazed. His attention was so singularly fixed on the earth beneath that it was alarming.

Something was making him uneasy.

She had first noticed it after they had crossed the ocean separating the continents. When the coasts of Costa del Sol became the mountains of North Corel, he had turned to her quickly, startling her out of her daze. “What?” he asked her, voice crisp and curt, as if he had been ordering an answer from his troops.

Hana looked at him and shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“…Hmph.” And he went back to staring out the window.

But he turned to her two more times, eyes narrowing in suspicion each time. After the last, he sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. “My apologies,” he said.

“Do you have a headache?” Hana asked.

“…Yes,” he answered, and the delay confused her.

“Maybe there’s a pill you could take.”

“It’s nothing.” And just like that the subject was closed.

They continued to follow the mountains. Hana liked to watch the sharp peaks and dives in the land. Despite its ruggedness, it had a certain beauty, and she liked the texture. She even reached out her hand once, imagining how it would feel to run her hands over the entire mountain range like a bolt of cloth laid on a table.

Sephiroth’s wing appeared out of nowhere with a great _whoosh_.

Hana cried out in surprise as the wing slammed her back against the seat, knocking the wind from her. Her head spun when it smacked against bone, and she saw stars in the inky darkness. His wing was powerful, _heavy_. In panic, she flailed against it, only managing to get her head free after expending a great deal of effort.

“W-What was _that_?” she said as she spat out a feather that had gotten in her mouth, Then, flustered, she realized that the rest of her was still entangled in the plumage. With an exasperated grunt, she pushed and kicked the wing away from her body. Sephiroth certainly wasn’t doing anything to help, and she was about to chide him for it when he spoke.

“Sorry,” Sephiroth said, and his voice was noticeably strained. The wing was – and she squinted to make sure she was seeing it right – trembling. He was trying to withdraw it, and yet it kept trying to extend itself. She could see the battle Sephiroth waged for control in his eyes and in the deep furrows in his brow.

Hana swallowed. She had not seen his wing since the night of the gala, and she had forgotten how large it was. It was so curious a thing to be extending from the shoulder of a man - she marveled that the muscles of his back could even support it. Afraid to be caught staring, she looked fixedly out the window as she pretended not to notice how hard Sephiroth was struggling to withdraw the wing into his side again.

Perhaps it really did have a will of its own.

_But why now?_

Hana closely examined the landscape beneath them. There was nothing but mountains below them now. She looked back to see where they had been when his wing had extended, and could barely make out a small cluster of homes in the distance. It was a tiny, quaint mountain town, probably only barely big enough to merit a spot on a map at all.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he hissed through grit teeth. He inhaled sharply as if in pain, and Hana, alarmed, turned to him despite herself, arms extended and hands open. He was bent forward, head in his hands, and he was applying significant pressure to his temples with the heels of his palms.

Through his long bangs, she saw one glowing eye fix on her, on the hands that she had automatically stretched forward to help. She withdrew them slowly under the dangerous glare. His pupils were slits, like a cat’s, and nearly hair-thin.

“I just need to rest.” The voice, somehow, was not his own.

Hana watched the fallen feathers at her feet dance in the soft winds Sephiroth’s wing created as it quivered and swept from side to side.

She knew it was bad, because that was the first time that she’d ever heard him admit that he needed rest.

* * *

 

_“Can I help you, General Sephiroth?”_

_He admitted he was taken aback by this woman. She spoke with authority, unflinching before him, chin raised so that, through her veil, she was staring straight into his eyes._

_It was something that few people dared to do._

_It was admirable._

_He hummed, intrigued. He wished he could see more of her face through the veil than lips painted bright as blood._

_If he had not been on duty, surrounded by his men, the questions he would have asked her would have been notably different._

_But as it was, he had a job to do._

_“Are you the leader of this band?” he asked._

_"No. I’m as much a wanderer as any of the men here.”_

_“What is your name?”_

_“Himiko,” she said. “I am a traveling priestess. These merchants are escorting me to my grandfather’s shrine.”_

_**A lie.**_ _He knew it immediately. They had called her “himesama”. He knew enough about Wutai and its language to know that simple shrine maidens did not merit the most honorific title of “sama”. Nor, he thought, did they require an entourage, or speak such flawless Continental._

_"Himiko, then,” Sephiroth said. “I assume that I need no introduction, nor do I need to explain by whom I was sent.”_

_The breeze parted her veil and he saw the curve of her lips. She was smirking beneath that veil, a motion that made the corners of his lips curl as well. He very much would have liked to hold a very different conversation with this woman._

_"ShinRa intelligence believes that weapons are being shipped through the area to a group of military rogues calling themselves the Crescent Unit. My orders are to patrol this road, confiscate any weapons we find, and detain any involved with the transport of those weapons.”_

_“A mighty task,” the woman said. “How incredibly invasive to be rummaging through travelers’ things on the open road. One might think from such actions that ShinRa already rules this country.”_

_He was very aware that his men’s eyes had grown to the size of saucers. She had just talked back to the most dangerous man in the world._

_Sephiroth laughed, to the alarm of both his own men and the merchants. Himiko did not so much as flinch._

_Who_ was _this woman?_

_"I do not care about this war. I truly hold nothing but the deepest apathy toward your cause,” she said. “But as you clearly hold the upper hand, General, we will comply with your wishes and allow the search.” She turned to the merchants and spoke in rapid, flowing Wutaiese._

_He didn’t have to speak Wutaiese to know that she may have consented, but the men did not._

_The exchange between Himiko and the men of the caravan was easy to follow. There was anger and fear in the men, and they protested heavily. Himiko struck back with authority, but no small amount of confusion. “Nande?” she kept asking. “Doushitano?”_

_"Mendokusai,” some said. Others hissed words that he knew were unsavory insults. But as she kept insisting, they were finding it increasingly harder to fight against her._

_"Search,” she said. “Forgive my men for being so disagreeable.”_

_The merchants continued to shout as Sephiroth nodded to his men, who immediately pried open the doors of the carts and entered. One of the merchants even grabbed Himiko by the arms, speaking rapidly, in panic, shaking her._

_Sephiroth watched in silence. He had his suspicions about what was going on, but was not certain enough to intervene just yet._

_Sephiroth’s troops announced their find by dumping burlap sacks of guns, explosives, and more traditional weapons onto the frozen road. There were also far more lucrative treasures among the cargo: bags of gold bullion, clothes fit for royalty, jeweled hairpins, and a crown in the shape of interlaced phoenix wings –treasures hardly suited for such a motley band of merchants._

_The cadets at Sephiroth’s side aimed their rifles at the group, shouting at them to freeze._

_A wind parted Himiko’s veil, and on her painted, alabaster face was unfeigned shock._

_All erupted into chaos. One of the merchants screamed a word in Wutaiese - “_ Nigete! _” - and the merchants threw themselves at Sephiroth’s men, a living, angry barrier between ShinRa's forces and the priestess. A brave, bold move, but terribly short-sighted. Sephiroth drew his own blade in a whisper and flew forward, leaving the merchants to his men, and headed straight for Himiko._

_The weapons he had expected. It was the treasure and the actions of the so-called merchants that told Sephiroth all he needed to know._

_He knew the suicidal charge had only been a distraction._

_The biggest merchant had lunged for Himiko and thrown her over his shoulder, his intention to escape clear. Sephiroth reached Himiko only a breath after her capture. Before the merchant could take even one step away with her, he was knocked off his feet with one swipe of the flat of Sephiroth’s blade. With a shout, he released the woman as he flew into a snow bank, leaving Himiko to fall in a disoriented heap at Sephiroth’s feet._

_The skirmish was over as quickly as it begun. Every last merchant had been chained hand and foot, and each had a gun pointed directly between their eyes. The woman, too, was squarely in the sights of two of his troops’ guns._

_“It seems your caravan_ was _hiding something,” Sephiroth said, addressing the woman who still had yet to compose herself. Under gunpoint, the merchants dared not move, but they hissed their anger still._

_Himiko rose to her feet, seething in righteous fury. Unafraid of the guns pointed at her, undeterred by the plight of her comrades, she addressed Sephiroth directly with only mere inches between the two of them. “There has been a misunderstanding. These weapons are not ours.”_

_“They were in your possession.”_

_"I oversaw the loading myself,” she shot back._

_But the evidence did not lie. Bag after bag had been thrown out of the cart and into the street. Out had spilled spears, katanas, darts, crossbows, machine guns, hand guns, rifles, bayonettes…everything imaginable._

_“One of the men,” she said slowly, “Tateishi. He is a blacksmith. He must have wanted to sell these in the next town.”_

_“A blacksmith,” Sephiroth said. “Is there a gunsmith among you as well?”_

_The woman was thrust into silence._

_“If you cannot explain this, I have my orders.”_

_Her mouth was pressed into a grim line. “There has been a misunderstanding.”_

_"The evidence speaks for itself,” he said. The pieces had indeed come together, but it was quite a different story than the one he was leading her to think he believed._

_It would not be advantageous for either of them to speak of it now._

_"I am sure the men can explain if you give me time.”_

_“Speak now. Who are you, who do you serve, and where were you going?”_

_Her mouth fell open. “It’s not…It’s not what you think!” she screamed. She stepped forward –would she actually have_ touched _him, he wondered?—but was halted by the guns of Sephiroth's troops._

_“Himesama!” the men screamed again before they were silenced by harsh shouts from Sephiroth’s men._

_She slowly straightened from her lunge forward, hands at her sides, head as high as always but her shoulders had dropped._

_She was down, and she knew it._

_Sephiroth took a single, slow step forward, closing the small gap between them, advancing until he stood only a breath away from her. She did not move, but tensed, hands balling into fists, whether in anger or fear he could not tell._

_Sephiroth pulled the straw hat and veil from her head, and looked deep into her dark, earthen eyes for the first time._

_There was a fire there, like he had seldom seen before, and never in one of Wutai’s daughters. It burned undaunted by the guns, by the betrayal of her comrades, brave and bold and fearless even in the literal shadow of the man who had nearly single-handedly ravaged her homeland._

_This was no shrine maiden._

_“I will ask you only once more,” Sephiroth said slowly. “Who are you? Who do you serve? And where were you going?”_

_She took a deep breath in and out through her nose, breath drifting away as frail wisps in the winter air, and said nothing._

_“I have orders. If you will not give your answers to me I have no choice but to deliver you to someone trained to extract them by force.”_

_"You cannot hurt me,” she whispered, voice hot as dragon’s breath._

_They had reached a stalemate. Neither would back down._

_Sephiroth couldn’t remember the last time he’d been brought to a stalemate._

_“It doesn’t matter how you torture me, you will not obtain what you seek. I have no connection with the Crescent Unit, or the Wutai Imperial Military. I am just a miko, seeking peaceful passage to the shrine of my grandfather.”_

_Sephiroth searched her eyes long and hard, and she did not back down from the scrutiny. She, in turn, glared him down as if her gaze alone could change his mind._

_He believed her._

_He knew she was innocent._

_“Lock her up,” Sephiroth ordered. “The Turks will make her talk. Detain the others as well, separate from her. We’ll see if a night in isolation will change her mind.”_

_"No!” she screamed, but his men were upon her at once. “You don’t know what you’re doing, you fool!”_

_But he did know what he was doing._

_She could kick and scream all she wanted, but he was saving her life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translations:
> 
> 1) Mendokusai - annoying, bothersome
> 
> 2) Nande - "why?"
> 
> 3) Doushitano? - "what is wrong?"
> 
> 4) Nigete - "run", as in "run away" or "get out of here". The "-te" tense makes it urgent, commanding.


	39. In Motion

Sephiroth grew better with the distance. By the time they crossed the last ocean dividing the isles of Wutai from the Western Continents, he was his normal, composed and dignified self and the full length of his wing had vanished without a trace except for the fallen feathers on the floor. She had no idea how that was even possible.

For Hana, it was the opposite.

She thought she’d done a good job of hiding her anxiety until Sephiroth started to growl. “Enough,” he hissed. “Settle down, you’re not a child.”

She hadn’t noticed that she’d been fidgeting enough to actually make noise until he pointed it out. She stilled, blood turned to ice by his reprimand.

But she wouldn’t let him think he’d won. “Easy for you to say,” she murmured. “You’re a foreigner. Everyone will forgive you if you do something stupid in front of the court.”

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You served at court for many years. I would have thought palace protocol would be natural for you by now.”

“I’m comfortable with acting like a servant,” she replied. “But now I’m the Kazehawa heir. It’s different now. I have power and responsibilities, and there will be special rituals and rites. My mother tried to teach me all the things I’m supposed to do when I am presented to the emperor but,” she shook her head, “it’s been so long, I’m not sure I remember them all.”

“Hmm.” Her retort stilled his protesting and they returned to their respective silences.

She caught herself fidgeting again later, possibly worse than before, and he had not remarked.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.

“I couldn’t say.”

“…Fine.”

But he spilled eventually. He did it so smoothly and calmly that she almost might have mistaken it as an attempt at casual conversation. Almost.

“Tell me about your mother.”

Hana stared at him. “What? What brought this on?” But he had no intention of speaking, only of listening.

“Father killed her a long time ago,” Hana said. “So long ago that I,” she sighed deeply, aching wounds still gaping wide despite the years, “I can’t even remember her face anymore.”

“But you must remember something.”

All this struck her as very strange and uncharacteristic, and her suspicions were higher than ever, but with a sigh she gave him what he wanted.

“Her name was Aika. It means ‘love song’. She was always singing. Brother said her eyes were always bright, no matter what happened to her. And she was a dreamer, apparently more than a little naïve and overly optimistic about the world. More than anything else, she loved fairy tales and fantasies, so much so that some say she actually believed them. Whether that was true or not, she always spoke of the very Continental idea of ‘happily ever after’.”  

Sephiroth hummed quietly. He wasn’t looking at her, but she knew he was soaking up every word.

“Which makes no sense to me,” Hana continued. “She was abducted by my father, who forced her to produce an heir…me. When I wasn’t a boy, he tried again and again, only to end in miscarriage or stillbirth every time. Father was terrible to all of us, and our lives were miserable.

“But she adopted Nii-chan as her own, even though she had no blood ties to him, and loved him like her own son. She always cried when another baby died. She talked about each one all the time, called us a family, and always talked about that day when the end would come and we would all be together, happily ever after.

“And through it all, she was smiling, waiting patiently for that happy ending.” Hana paused, looking out the window to the earth below. “When the time for the conclusion came, she didn’t get her happy ending. She was murdered.” Hana laughed bitterly to push away the sting. “She was such a fool to think that lives like ours could possibly end any other way.”

The islands came into view below. Hana’s eyes stung, but they were not wet. She had no more tears left to shed for her mother, though the loss still ached deeply.

Sephiroth respected the silence for more than a due amount of time, letting the air settle. “You don’t give your mother enough credit,” he then said. “She was not naïve at all.”

The quiet words shook Hana to her core. “Wha--?” she stared at him, but he was looking out the window, and his back told her nothing. Anger bubbled to the surface. “You can’t…you can’t just talk like that because you never even—“

“She was no fool,” he said, and he said it with such certainty that anything she might have said in response was squelched. “And the proof is in you. Her story has not ended. Not yet.”

Hana’s mouth opened but no words came out.

Their descent was rapid, and it hurt her ears. Still, after so long in the air, it felt good to have the helicopter alight on solid ground. Sephiroth rose immediately and unlatched the door. Beyond him, she saw her homeland – the iconic red pagodas and towers, the great carving of Da Chao in the distant mountain face, and the worn stone roads that would take them to the glimmering presence of the imperial palace.

“Are you going to become like my mother now?” Hana asked bitterly. “Are you going to tell me we’re going to live happily ever after too?”

“No,” Sephiroth said, stepping out of the helicopter. At the edge of the helipad, there were twenty imperial guards standing rank and file at attention, and three palace nobles in full court attire. As Sephiroth’s stepped to the earth, the soldiers saluted and then remained with spears heavenward, still as stone. The court officials bowed, first from the waist, but then bending knee to prostrate themselves on the ground, foreheads on the pavement, hands folded in front of them in reverence. 

“I am only going to say,” Sephiroth said, watching the men with a face blank and passive, “that it is far too soon to speak of any kind of ending.”

* * *

 

“If I had twenty people I could murder, any way I wished,” Genesis said, “I would kill Scarlet, and then trade all the remainders to kill Scarlet nineteen more times. _Creatively_.”     

“Let’s keep homicide as our last resort, Genesis,” Angeal said.

“As long as it’s still on the list,” Genesis said. “I do insist. In big letters, please. And in red, too. That would be a nice touch.”

Angeal slid the stack of papers to the edge of his desk, safely out of Genesis’s reach, after his friend had somehow procured a red pen. “Let me at least read it before you deface it.”

“You know what it says as well as I do.”

“Yes, but I need to know everyone who is in on this,” Angeal said. “If for no other reason to more prudently use the other nineteen slots on your kill list.”

Genesis seated himself and twirled the red pen with his fingers. “Do you think nineteen is enough?” he asked.

Angeal sighed. They had gone to their board meeting that morning to find that a nightmare had been brewing under their feet, and it had spread unchecked for far too long.

Now the two men sat in Angeal’s office with a fifty-page proposal that could destroy their lives as they knew them. The innocuous title of “Post-War Reassignment of Duties and Responsibilities” didn’t fool either of them for a second. The careful reader would find that SOLDIER was being stripped of its power, but the careful readers who knew the whispers around the office and the ambitions of the proposal’s authors would find another disturbing truth.

This proposal was a personal attack on Sephiroth.

“How far could this go?” Genesis asked. “Stripping him of his rank and title is one thing, but could they actually do _more_?”

Angeal looked at Genesis through lowered brows. The temperature of the room seemed to plunge.

“Don’t you look at me like that, you know how it goes,” Genesis said. “ShinRa always shuffles their heroes to the sidelines and out of the limelight before they’re never seen again. He could disappear like hundreds of other ShinRa legends, and no one would ask questions.”

“No one in ShinRa's history has ever held a candle to Sephiroth,” Angeal said.

“But he’s _not_ immortal, and he has a weakness now. Hana’s much more susceptible than he is and they would use that. Shamelessly.”

“Genesis, this is bad, but there’s no reason to think that it’s _that_ bad.”

“Yet,” Genesis added.

And they both knew that was the truth.

“How much of a hand do you think Blackwell had in this?” Genesis asked.

Angeal thumbed through the pages. “Any amount of influence he had,” Angeal said, “would be entirely too much.”

It was terrifying what the man had managed to do in the short time he’d been at ShinRa. Everyone was talking about the return of the first SOLDIER, and he had even made several public appearances alongside the president. Today at the meeting they had discussed holding a celebration to welcome his return, and Scarlet and Heidegger had both offered to make a position for him in their departments, though the president had said that he already had something in mind, which was equally or even more alarming.

In many ways, Blackwell was seeping into the place that Sephiroth once held at ShinRa.

Genesis and Angeal stared at the proposal, at an utter loss as to what they could possibly do about it.

* * *

 

The palanquin was far too fancy for her tastes. She would have traded all the gold and splendor of the box for two more square feet of room.

The carriage was ideally meant for one. Admittedly, room was allowed in its length for copious amount of robes that a royal would be wearing, and to fit two Wutaiese nobles just might have worked, but the construction’s height and width did not allow for the proper seating of one very, very tall Continental General and his wife.

The way Sephiroth was crammed in his end took away any dignity from the ride. It wasn’t just that his torso was too tall, or his legs were too long; he was unfortunate enough to suffer from both issues. At least the silken curtains were drawn so he could suffer the indignity of being folded in such a graceless way in privacy.

Hana didn’t like being put in this small of a box with her husband. It left no room for either of them. They were inextricably in each other’s space, breathing each other’s air, humid and cold from the climate, heavy and stale from their discomfort. Their knees knocked against each other as the carriage rattled on the stone road, and their eyes frantically, desperately looked anywhere but at each other – even if that somewhere was at the unadorned wooden interior.

Or at least, that’s the way it felt to her. Sephiroth’s face showed only righteous indignation at the accommodations. Apparently, his unnatural posture weighed far heavier on his mind than their forced proximity.

The pale, tinted light filtering through the curtains danced across his face. She allowed herself the thought that she would have liked to watch the light and shadows play…if it had not been for the forbidden canvas it played upon.

Her heartbeat was erratic and it was irking her.

“How long to the capital?” Sephiroth asked. Hana held back a smile. She could almost imagine him as a whiny little child asking that now that his glory and pride were stripped by the extremities of his situation.

“Several hours,” Hana said, and she could have sworn that the quick whisper that left Sephiroth’s lips was a curse.

“You could lie with your back on the seat,” Hana offered, “and put your feet up against the wall with your knees bent.” But she honestly didn’t think that would work either. He was just too tall – no two ways about it.  

Sephiroth made a fearsome face and Hana offered no more commentary.

Hana pulled out a fan and waved mechanically as something to do for the journey. Despite it being the dead of winter, this area of Wutai usually did not get as cold as the Continents, though the humidity did add a heaviness to the cold that often took foreigners off guard. But the sun was high, and it was reasonably warm outside, so it wasn’t long before their palanquin began to get stuffy. She once offered her fan to Sephiroth, and he took it from her, wordlessly examined the thing, and promptly handed it back. She thought his dignity could hardly be damaged any more by a few waves of a flowered fan, but she let him keep his pride. Wounded animals bit the hardest. She did send a few occasional strokes his way and she imagined that maybe he actually appreciated the gesture.

After a timeless span, the carriage lurched, and the men outside were shouting. Hana couldn’t immediately recall a time that Sephiroth had ever appeared happier, especially by the manifestation of chaos.

Or at least, as close to happy as he got. He leapt out of the carriage so fast that she hadn’t had much time to judge either. She sighed and closed her fan, tucking it into her obi.

“Stay,” Sephiroth commanded as soon as she moved to get out, closing the door in her face so quickly that she didn’t even get a glimpse of their surroundings. “Something’s coming.”

“Should I be worried?” she asked.

“Looks like your father’s thugs. So no.”

_Oh that’s all, is it?_ “Trying to get us before we get to the capital?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He was busy, and that was fine by her.

Outside she could hear the skirmish begin. It sounded close. Too close – maybe not even ten yards away. How had they gotten so close without raising some kind of alarm?

_Unless the guards—_

Her thoughts were interrupted as an axe cleaved through the wood just above her shoulder.

The surprised leap forward saved her from a second assault on the carriage by a heavy spear. Now on the opposite side, staring at the gaping holes the weapons had left, she fumbled for the gun tucked in her obi. She was too slow. She had just steadied the weapon in her hand and fired one blind shot when a strong arm shot through the window at her side and seized her by the neck. Her attacker yanked her back against the wall fast and hard, forcing her breath out, and then keeping it out with pressure on her throat. Her gun was dropped out of reach in the attack.

“Ngh…!”

In desperation, she bit, hard. She heard a man’s yelp and in retaliation, she was slammed against the carriage wall two more times. She was locked onto him even as her vision began to swim. She channeled the pain from her screaming, starving lungs into her bite, fighting to force the hurt into him, not caring that the wet taste of rust welled up in her mouth.

Eventually, she won. She was released to gasp in a breath and fall between the seats in relief.

It was a short lived respite.

From the window, she saw the man who had grabbed her nursing his wound.

It was one of the courtiers who had received them.

“You!” she screamed. It was mutiny, then. That’s why the battle was so close – it had been surrounding them the whole time. How many more of the men escorting them were actually against them? How could she trust anyone at court after this?

A more immediate problem landed immediately in her lap.

A grenade.

And then an ear-shattering explosion.

* * *

 

Zack was dressed in his swim trunks and a baggy t-shirt, and he only wore that much because shirts and shoes were required at the train station. He’d had quite the day stocking up for this trip. He wore a new pair of sunglasses and wielded a blue and white umbrella instead of his sword. His flip-flop sandals were still stiff and awkward to walk in, but he would not let that dampen his mood.

He was pretty sure he’d gotten it all. He had sunscreen and aloe, a flowered lei just in case it wasn't clear enough where he was going, and he had even splurged on the season's hottest tanning lotion. After all, he thought with a smirk, he had a reputation to uphold. If it was known that Zack Fair took a vacation without advertising his SOLDIER sculpted, sun-kissed self to the ladies of the tropics, he would have ceased to be Zack Fair.

He liked watching people stare as he sauntered through Midgar's streets in his beach clothes in the dead of winter. He liked it best when the onlookers were female. He winked at one of the girls at the station, who blushed furiously and tried to find a way to position her head so she could still look at him without him knowing about it.

He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up, preparing for an approach. She was cute and clearly interested. What was a little shyness? He could work around that.

But the train whistled, and he was reminded that he had a mission.

Best to save the ladies for a bit later.

His spirits were higher than they had been for a long time as he stepped aboard the ShinRa Express. At first it hadn’t been easy to get clearance to leave, but by happy coincidence he had bumped into an extremely irate Genesis, who had given him quite the lashing for causing him to spill his coffee. At the end of it, Zack humbly mentioned that he would _like_ to get out of his hair, but was unable to get permission to actually go anywhere. The approval forms had materialized in his box by lunch time. In only a matter of hours after that, he was geared up and ready to go for some serious R &R.

In truth, that wasn’t why he was so happy. The vacation time was nice, the paid leave as a First was even better, and getting out of the building was way more than welcome. But over all that, it was because after hours of pouring through books at the ShinRa library, he had found the one word he needed to connect all his piecemeal memories of the mysterious vanishing folder, the name of the place where it would all come together.

His papers of leave said Costa del Sol, as did his train ticket and every tracking record ShinRa had on him. He had about twenty-four hours to enjoy some sun and sand and ladies.

But after that, it was time to work.

In his pocket, folded small, was a ticket to Nibelheim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translation:
> 
> 1) Niichan - older brother


	40. The Promise of Catastrophe

_"Hey…h-hey…are you…are you…_

_“Stop that! You’re scaring me! You said you weren’t scary! You said you were nothing like the stories…_

_“But you…you…_

_"Why are you…your eyes…?_

_“Stop! Don’t you dare get any closer! I-I mean it! Stay away! I hate you! You lied to me! You’re as mean as they all said! **I hate you!** _

_“N-n-no! Stop! **Stop**! Sephiroth, no, no ah----!!”_

* * *

 

The light was frail. It waved and washed, and then waned again, fading only a moment after it flared. Every now and again it would surge with strength, only to retreat faster than it had come.

_A torch…?_ Hana blinked. She saw it now. There it was, down the stone hall a ways, held in an iron sconce. Her view of it was split in half by a dark, thick bar.

She blinked again. Her entire world was divided into even sections of gray stone by black bars. Her wrists and ankles were heavy. So was her neck. She tried to move her reluctant body and a soft, rusty jingling accompanied her movement.

“ _No!_ ”

She shot upright but her fears were only confirmed. She was bound, hand and foot and neck in iron shackles. The chains reversed her momentum, and pulled her back to the earth, where she laid dazed from the whiplash on a thin cot of straw.

Fire lanced through her shoulder and she screeched from the sudden pain. A figure in the corner sprung at her fast, and her scream was cut off as a hand was clamped over her mouth. “Hush,” a voice hissed.

Indignant, even though she understood little of where she was or why she was in so much pain, she bit down on the hand, hard. A man grunted, but the hand was only pushed harder against her face with a strength that made her fear that her jaw would be shattered. “Be _quiet_ Hana!” the man seethed.

Then things began to get clearer. With the flickering light, she could see the outline of the body of the man at her side, the cut and form of a shadow that she recognized. Fazed, she let her jaw go slack, releasing the hand, which was hastily withdrawn.

“Sephiroth?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.” But his answer was too quick. She guessed that she’d caused him more than a bit of pain to make him this cross.

“What…? Where…?”

“We are safe. For now.” He was still much too brisk and curt with her, and she might have protested if pain hadn’t stolen her breath again.

“Your shoulder?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped.

“Shift sideways. Let me see it.”

The shackle on her neck stretched taut as she tried. Sephiroth put one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders, lifted her, and placed her down again closer to the wall so there was slack on the chain. Once this was done, he turned her body himself, rolling her to face the wall.

She didn’t know how he could see by the light of the lone torch across the hall, but she was glad for the darkness that hid the flush of blood to her cheeks as he ripped her yukata down from her collar and along her spine.

“Hey…!” she protested.

“Your clothing is ruined anyway,” he said, and then peeled away her yukata to bare her abused skin to the cold, stale air.

He said nothing about his observations, but Hana jerked away and bit her lip to keep from crying out when he once tried to ghost his fingers over the wound.

“What happened?” she asked, not liking his silence or how long he was looking at her.

“The grenade,” Sephiroth said. “It had a relatively tiny explosion, but released a powerful sedative gas. Our captors clearly want you alive.”

“And my shoulder?”

“Your instincts proved true and you rolled so the explosion was at your back, which minimized damages, but your shoulder absorbed the brunt of the hit. You have cuts and abrasions from shrapnel, which, as best I can tell, came from the ceramic casing of the grenade itself.”

“If I was only minimally damaged why does it _hurt_?”

“Your wounds are infected,” he said. “But considering the circumstances, it could have been much worse.”

There was the sound of more cloth ripping, and then he took the strips and began to quickly and tightly wrap her shoulder. When he was done, he rolled her onto her back again, taking extra care as he set her wounded shoulder down.

“So we were captured.” Hana stated. She turned her face to him but could see little else but his outline in the semi-darkness. “How did they manage to get _you_ in chains?”

“They had you,” was all he said.

She let the words roll around in her mind. She didn’t know what she thought of them, or even if there was anything _to_ think about them.

“Who is ‘they’?” she asked, speaking mostly to squelch the dangerous thoughts in her mind.

“From what I’ve seen, they are likely agents of your father, probably not under his direct command, but sympathizers or lackeys looking for a quick way up the ranks. We are in the dungeons of a wealthy lord’s manor. This is troubling because it means your father’s influence on the nobles must be deep indeed.” He hummed softly. “Though their plan is ultimately futile and idiotic, I suppose I can at least commend them for their boldness.”

“You know a way out, then?” She noticed with a jolt that he wasn’t chained.

“We will remain here for the time being.”

The hope that had dared to bloom was promptly extinguished. “Why?” she asked, her voice small.

“I have told you,” Sephiroth said, his cool patience returned as the last of his ire over being bitten faded, “they will not harm us yet.”

“I didn’t miss the ‘ _yet_ ’,” she replied.

All was quiet. In the distance, she heard a leak echo as each drop fell. The silence was deep and consuming and filled her heart with dread.

“What will they do to us?”

“They are rightly afraid of me. I do not think they will dare to do much for the time being.”

“And if you’re wrong? You may well be invulnerable, but I’m not.”

Sephiroth offered no pertinent reply. “Sleep,” he said instead. “Your body is fighting the infection and there is nothing we can do now except wait.”

“You have this under control, right?”

Sephiroth raised his head. “I suppose you could say that.”

“No, don’t _suppose_ anything! You could get us out of here now, I know you could. Why stay? What aren’t you telling me?”

Sephiroth’s reply was immediate. “Do you trust me, Hana?” His question was dark and severe, asked in the voice she knew commanded thousands through war.

The question caught her off guard. She thought for a long time. She didn’t like the situation at all, but at the same time, she knew nothing of war. Sephiroth, despite being annoyingly elusive, knew much more about what he was doing than she did.

And it wasn’t just the legendary silver general that was asking, it was _Sephiroth_ , it was her _husband._

_Do I trust him?_ she wondered.

“Yes,” she said. She was as surprised at the word as anything else, but she didn’t think it was a lie, either.

Hana shifted in the cot and closed her eyes. She heard Sephiroth accept her dismissal and move back to the entryway, sitting on the stone floor with his back against the bars of the door.

_I trust him, right?_

Caught again in dangerous musing, she slowly started to notice other details about her situation. Her legs were cold, colder than her torso. She moved them and was mortified to feel the straw against her calves – which meant that they were bare.

And the cloth he had ripped to bind her shoulder had had to come from somewhere.

_"Your clothing is ruined anyway,”_ he had said.

_My yukata!_ Though it seemed that some of it was still around her chest at least, the portion over her shoulder would have been shredded by the shrapnel. And her calves were undeniably bare.

She was less concerned about the item itself and more concerned that she had no idea what was acting as its replacement.

At least something was. From her neck to just above her knees was quite warm, resting under something heavy. Something as dark as the blackness beyond the torch’s reach, something strong and sturdy like…

… _Leather._

She moved her fingers to feel the sleeves, rolled up so as not to consume her hands. At her back, she felt two belts crossing over her skin, and its length on her body seemed to match the length of….

The thought made her sit halfway up despite the discomfort her shackles gave her for it. There, she could see the light off her husband’s bare skin.

She stared, waiting for an explanation, but none came. Wasn’t he cold to be bare-chested in a place like this? He showed no signs of it; his head was slightly hung in sleep, and light danced off strands of silver veiling his body as his chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.

He had dressed her in his own coat. He’d even taken the thought to put it on backwards, so that the open chest would not violate her modesty.

She pulled the thick, warm, heavy fabric into her.

More than that….

_"They had you.”_

Were there volumes untold behind his decision to surrender and join her in this dungeon?

* * *

 

“Oh, Genesis,” the woman purred, running a long, ruby painted nail over her desk as she cooed her pleasure. “I thought you’d _never_ come to visit me in my office.”

“Have I told you recently,” Genesis said, coming in with a flourish and alighting himself on the chair in front of her desk, “how much I abhor you, Scarlet? Because if not, I want to reassure you that I really, truly and deeply do.”

The blonde woman smiled but averted her eyes sulkily. “You sure do know how to flatter a woman, Commander.”

Genesis had never even stepped one foot on the Weapons Development floor for one reason, and that reason was Scarlet. Only the direst of circumstances had dragged him, unwillingly, to confront the woman in the relative privacy of her office.

From his chair, he reached his foot behind him and kicked the doorstop out from where it was wedged beneath the door, letting the heavy thing slam itself shut.

“If you want it _that_ way,” Scarlet said, leaning back in her velvet chair. “It’s not like it isn’t all around the company anyway. Poor SOLDIER is the only one out of the loop these days.”

“And _you_ have kept it that way,” Genesis said. “So,” here he sat himself in a chair, put his elbows on her desk, and made his eyes level with hers, staring, challenging. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to get _creative_?”

Scarlet took his challenge, and put her face inches from his. “Am I going to deprive you of precious fun if I tell you everything without a fight, Commander?”

“I can’t decide,” he responded slowly, “if I would rather make you bleed or get out of here sooner. Either way, you can’t disappoint.”

But the way he was fingering the hilt of his rune-infused blade told the real story.

Scarlet grinned. “SOLDIER is losing its touch. Without Sephiroth, you’re all brainless brawn.”

“Then why are you getting rid of Sephiroth?”

Scarlet laughed, a gratingly high _kya-ha-ha_ that was only a hair shy of what it would take to turn Genesis into a berserker. Genesis sneered his ire away, glowering at the woman.

“You’ve seen through me, then.”

“If you have an issue with him, you should take it up with him yourself instead of stirring up trouble under the skirts of politics. He would so enjoy a confrontation.”

“Such loyalty. Charming. You two make an odd pair, with your fire and his ice. You would think that by now one would have extinguished the other.” She pulled her hands back and examined her long, sharp nails. Company rumor had it that they were for far more than just show. “But you’ve got me all wrong. I don’t hold anything in particular against him. I do wish he would have told me all the juicy details about his bride, but it’s hardly reasonable grounds to stage a coup.”

“Then why do this?” Genesis pressed, leaning forward in his seat to put the pressure on.

Scarlet shook her head, blonde hair waving in the well-practiced gesture. “It’s all intensely impersonal. Shame…he’s still in his prime too. Maybe Hojo can find another use for him yet if he can sort through the Turks’ leftovers.”

Genesis’s face flushed crimson and his teeth were bared.

“No, nothing against him. But you see, he has something that I want.”

“Power,” Genesis answered for her. “Your petty desires and the lengths you’d go to get them are disgusting.”

“But it’s _wasted_ on him,” Scarlet said, throwing up her hands and dressing her lips in a pout. “He was the golden child of ShinRa, the hero that won the war, and never once did he want any of it. The center of the heart of ShinRa should be held by one who is willing to claw and bleed for it with a passion he could never possess, don’t you agree?”

Genesis pulled back in his seat. His fingers were curled, and the corner of his lip was twitching.

“SOLDIER Firsts are afforded too many luxuries, in my opinion. Throwing in the towel whenever they want, defying direct orders, and so on, just because they have the brawn to hack things apart. While officially there is no limit to these little _presents_ from the company, you know that implicitly, they do not come cheaply, and Sephiroth has been spending far too frequently since he brought that little flower home.

“You know as well as I do that even the top management was starting to question his loyalty. I simply took advantage of the opportunity. Fortunately for me, being a SOLDIER also has its _costs_.”

Genesis’s face went blank. He knew far too well what she was talking about. It was something you had to look closely between the lines to see, but the higher you got in SOLDIER, the more you realized it. Shedding so much blood for ShinRa made a man realize that the company would go to any lengths to protect their secrets. From that point, it only took the realization that SOLDIERs were little more than living, breathing tools that ShinRa produced with secret procedures and technology to do their dirty work. Over time, every First-Classman would put two and two together and understand why all the greatest SOLDIERs, or ones who talked about a life outside of the company, just disappeared or were unexplainably killed in action.

No SOLDIER ever left ShinRa.

Not alive.

Scarlet smiled.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. “Knowing the same fate will await you once ShinRa’s done toying with you, too?”

Genesis chuckled. “You know, after surviving talking with you, it doesn’t sound like so bad of an option.”

“Well I’m glad I could help you come to terms with the realities of your happy little mako boy battalion.”

“Oh, you’ve done so much more than that.”

Genesis reached forward and grabbed Scarlet by the throat, pulling her across her own desk so she was draped across it and held up with her face a hair’s width from his. She was startled, eyes wide, but did not cry out, and even had the composure to glare at him from where she dangled in his grip.

“You’ve helped me make up my mind.” Genesis grinned and, chuckling darkly, put his mouth next to her ear and purred his vow.

“I’m going to kill you. Not now. Maybe not even soon. But I am going to beat you at this grotesque game of yours, and then, after you have seen the demise of your dreams, I am going to show you exactly how much we _little mako boys_ are capable of.”

He opened his hand and let her drop, her head hitting the chair. She was reeling as she tried to pull herself together and straighten her spine.

“You picked the wrong opponents, Scarlet,” Genesis said as he opened the door to leave. “Sephiroth and SOLDIER are not going to be felled by the whims of the company or a few rumors about who is loyal and who is not.” He flashed one bright grin back at her before he took his grand exit.

“And I do _so_ look forward to you seeing it for yourself.”


	41. To Break, To Bind

The guards had kept a wide berth from their captives for the entirety of their imprisonment, which was wise. No one wanted to mess with Sephiroth, even if he was behind bars. On the first day, the lackey assigned to give them their rations came back with a horror story about how the General’s catlike, mako eyes glowed in the dark, slits of pupils flaring, his searing venom glare cutting through the darkness as he lingered in the shadows where his wife rested. The story was enough to scare any ideas out of even the bravest of the guards, and Sephiroth and Hana had enjoyed solitude in their cell for it.

The guards came for him on the fifth day, which was just about when Sephiroth had calculated that they would. By the looks on their faces, slurred orders to get up, and unsteady grips on their guns, it seemed that they had relied heavily on liquid courage to get the task done. Sephiroth rose and acquiesced, walking through the stone halls on his own while the guards stayed well behind.

No one was under any delusions about who was really in charge here.

He came to a large cell, empty but for a single chair in the center. The door was slammed behind him, the guards entirely too eager to be rid of him, but he was not locked in. He hummed in thought and took a seat in the chair. “Quite a crew you keep, Blackwell,” he said to the stone walls, his voice thick with irony. “Incapable even of bringing a prisoner in for interrogation. I had thought it impossible for my opinion on the planning of this abduction to fall any further.”

A dark murmur followed his words, seeping in to fill the room and ricochet against the stone. Sephiroth sat tall and resolute against its dark waves. “I assure you, Sephiroth,” Blackwell said, “that these imbeciles have been distanced from me for a very good reason.”

“Every empire needs its grunts, I suppose,” Sephiroth said, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair.

“Ha,” Blackwell’s voice came again. “Perhaps, except for when their stupidity reaches this level. They have proved themselves liabilities instead of assets. They got a reward quite different from what they were expecting for their so called _‘proactive initiative’_.”

Sephiroth located the speaker in the corner and saw a small blinking red light above it that he assumed was a camera. “You didn’t even give me the honor of a personal visit, Reuben?”

“As much as I wish I could, General, I find myself quite occupied in Midgar these days.”

“Indeed. I can imagine. Cleaning up a blunder this big can’t have streamlined your schedule any.”

“At least you are gracious enough not to pin this on me,” Blackwell said, and Sephiroth smirked. “And at least one of us is enjoying this,” the man remarked over the speaker.

“I knew from the start that you were not stupid enough to chain yourself to an angry bear.”

“Hmph. Those fools deserve every bit of the terror you gave them.” Blackwell hummed. “All the same, I intend to make the best of it. We are long overdue for a talk, son.”

“So talk,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You could,” Blackwell said. “I never intended to imprison you. Not once. If you had impaled every one of those guards on the bars of your cell and rained bloody terror down on that estate as you made your escape, you would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“A lot of trouble,” Sephiroth agreed. “Godo would have known that we had gone missing within a few hours, and your men took no pains to hide whom they served. I knew that the longer the investigation went on, the more would be revealed, and the more damage I would do to your cause. I am patient, and have endured much worse, so I played along. Every hour you let me sit in here was one more hour to fuel the court’s rage.”

“I can’t fault you for taking advantage of such a terrible blunder, but you are entirely wrong to assume that I _let_ such a defeat happen by turning a blind eye to the situation.” Blackwell’s voice changed. The malevolent laugh was back, the snide, untouchable pride and the cold, calculating ire. “Why do you think I did not give the order to immediately release you?”

The corners of Sephiroth’s lips turned downward. “I knew your game,” Sephiroth said. “And I weighed the factors and decided to play.”

“You are most gracious to engage, my son,” Blackwell said. “I admit, I believed that the peril your wife was in would dissuade you. I am glad to see that you are not so easily swayed by the call of your heart.”

Sephiroth frowned.

“I am curious,” the man continued over the speaker. “Would you have actually let her die?”

“No,” Sephiroth said. “I would not have allowed it.”

“Then your opinion of her strength is very high, indeed. You have let her suffer until she now lingers at the very door of death. Your cold-blooded patience is indeed _impressive_. Dare I say…nearly inhuman.”

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he continued to assault the machine with his glare. As much as he hated to admit it, everything the man had said was true.

He knew the gamble from the beginning. Blackwell was testing him, seeing if he would put Hana’s safety aside to deal a blow to him. It was a test of their relationship and his grit – a challenge as real as if they had locked their blades in combat. In the beginning, Sephiroth had absolutely no qualms about engaging. Hana’s wounds had appeared to be only minimally infected – surely nothing compared to other cases he had seen. It would be painful, perhaps, but he trusted her to survive it.

In this, and this alone, he had drastically miscalculated.

Her condition had quickly spiraled out of control.

Her fever skyrocketed, face always flushed with the heat, eyes glassy, shivering in her sweat as she slipped in and out of delirium. The infection took its savage vengeance as it ran its fiery course through her body. Without medicine or even anything more than stale, lukewarm water to cleanse the wound and strips of her old, filthy yukata to bind it, there was little he could do for her. The only mercy had been that for the majority of the five days and nights they spent in prison, she had remained fast asleep, her body too exhausted to scrape enough energy together to keep her awake.

Yes, it had gotten bad. Very bad. But surely she would understand that it was to deal a severe blow to her father. He told himself repeatedly that she would have agreed if she could have.

At some point, he had no choice but to admit that he had overestimated her strength. The reminder came every time he gave her water. Caught in delirium, she had vehemently fought him in the beginning, but as the days passed, she became too exhausted to struggle anymore, submitting with a whimper every time he pressed the tin cup to her lips, and then, eventually, not at all. She had fought so hard for too long, and her life was fading.

Still, he could not yield. Medicine would come any day. Blackwell could not allow her to die. He needed her. The thought that she would be healed if she could only hang on for a few more hours kept him going. He thought he could go further, win more, deal more damage without reaping any losses himself.

He had been agonizingly wrong.

_At the very least, it should have been me to pay the price of my arrogance._

He shook himself, painfully aware that he had been silent for too long. He steeled himself to reengage in this verbal battle with Blackwell, but from the speakers came that soft, velvet voice, in sympathy as tender as it was fake and mocking.

“My poor little girl. What a pitiful way to die. At least she was not conscious to see that the cold-hearted monster letting her slowly waste away was none other than her beloved.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. Sephiroth and Hana had not married for love, or anything more than mere personal benefit. It had been— ** _was_** _—_ as emotionless a transaction as picking out the best man to guard one in battle. It had not been anything…it simply _was_.

But Blackwell was playing on the assumption that there _had_ been more to it than that. He was counting on that—whatever _more_ he thought there was—to cause him pain.

Despite Sephiroth understanding the tactic on an academic level, it was working.

The comment was like a lance through his heart.

“And that was my plan,” Blackwell continued, just as softly, his voice the darkest, deadliest caress. “Did you think I would play with such high stakes just as a match of our wills? No, son. I needed to make you pliant.”

“Pliant?” Sephiroth asked. “Is that what you think has happened?”

“I’m not a monster, boy,” Blackwell said. “You were correct in that I will not allow my daughter to die. I need her still. As we speak, she is being treated, though I do admit that I cannot guarantee her recovery at this point.”

Sephiroth’s eyes were wide, pupils the thinnest slits of blackness. “Then _why_?” His voice was sharp and icy, quiet as a whisper but as deadly as the winds of the arctic. “Why wait so long?”

“I could ask you the same question, my son.”

It was one of the few times in his life that Sephiroth found himself entirely speechless.

“In any case, I have given you my answer. I need _you_ now, perhaps even more than I need my daughter. But I knew you were too stubborn to see that it was for your own good as well as mine.”

“I will never aid you.”

“Come now, son. Submit to reason, at least. I have done no small amount of research on what it would take to break you. I would rather not, if at all possible.”

“You are mad,” Sephiroth hissed.

“I do not deny it. Sane men do not change the world. I hope you’ll forgive me for this little experiment, but it was so fascinating to see your will against my own. You truly are a formidable opponent. I can only imagine the good we could do for each other if we were allies.”

“Good?” Sephiroth asked. “As of yet, all you have brought to us is pain and death.”

“Allow me to prove my goodwill to you, then. Through much effort on my part, I have obtained something that you want. Something you have yearned for above all from the time you were very small.”

“There’s nothing you can give me that would make me—“

The noise was so small and ordinary that it confused him. _Paper?_ But as he reviewed the sound in his mind he knew that’s what it was: papers had been slipped under the door.

What kind of _paper_ would be so powerful as to change his mind? Did he dare even to touch it?

“You are raw, hurt,” Blackwell said. “I have pushed you so hard. Rest now, knowing that Hana is recovering, and look at what I have discovered.”

“I won’t fall for this. I am not a fool,” Sephiroth said.

“Indeed, I know you are not. If you distrust me, then look only at the name on the file. That alone will convince you that if you pass up this opportunity, you will carry a gaping hole in your soul for the rest of your life.

“You will never be complete,” Blackwell said. “Not while you do not even know the basic truth of _who you are_.”

The speaker shut off, but the light on the camera did not.

Sephiroth turned to face the door and the simple green file. He knew that Blackwell would not do this out of kindness. It had to be a trap. It had to be something that would push him further into this web of insanity when he was already battle-weary and confused.

But as he left, he could not stop his eyes from wandering to the label on the folder at his feet.

His heart stopped.

He stared at it, mind wiped blank in shock.

“H-How?” he gasped aloud, voice weak and strained. “ _I-Impossible_!”

But the words did not change, did not retract their influence that pierced him to his core.

_The Jenova Project._

A voice foreign and yet familiar, a woman’s voice, was whispering in the back of his mind.

He recognized it. He had heard it as he had flown over the mountains of the Western Continent on his way to Wutai. But it was deeper than that. He knew that voice because it had been with him from his earliest memory, a caress as tender and ephemeral as it was terrifying. As little as he understood it, he also knew he needed it. It was a part of him…no, it _was_ him. The whole of him. The part he was missing since birth, the sealant to take the shambles of his directionless, meaningless life and unite them into a soul – whole, complete at long last. It was the purpose he never knew he had, his past, his history, his heritage, his _mother_ …!

_Come, my son_ , the woman whispered. _Come to me._

He clasped his hands to his ears and fell to his knees, crumpling like a puppet with severed strings. 

Trembling, weak as a child, and bidden by a will not entirely his own, he tenderly picked up the file before him and opened the cover.


	42. The Proposal

_It had started to snow again, though without rage or ire. The hollow space in the shadow of the buttes was quiet, the creatures of the night sleeping the season away, and all the other whispers of nature silenced by the lazy flurry of downy flakes._

_The capture of the Wutaian merchants and their miko had been uneventful. The men had been bound hand and foot with rope, then tied to one another and to the poles of the tent raised around them, packed tighter than livestock in a tent meant for two. Sephiroth had isolated the miko, chaining her in the back of the supply truck with only a lone lantern for company. No one, not even the fiery-eyed miko, had done anything to resist. Though their compliance had made the process smoother, the prisoners’ sour submission had dampened the spirits of the ShinRa troops._

_All had been still for the past several hours. Even when the only man in Sephiroth’s troop who could speak Wutaiese had returned from scouting, he was not able to get a single word from either the men or the veiled priestess who seethed in her chains – bound, but not defeated._

_It was getting late, and the encounter with the merchants had stalled their progress. Just as well – the buttes would shield their frail tents from the weight of continued snowfall. Sephiroth called a halt for the night and led the men in setting up camp. One by one, two-man tents were erected along the sides of the twin cliffs. Sephiroth assigned two men to distribute rations to their comrades and the prisoners, and then used the empty storage crates to start a campfire. With a whisper, his fire materia consumed the wood, and his troops gravitated to it without being told._

_The general’s own tent was the last to join the sad cluster of meager dwellings, identical to the others except for the fact that he would be its sole occupant._

_“I want two men to stand guard tonight,” Sephiroth said. “Divide the night into four shifts, and concentrate on the prisoners. The woman is not to be touched.”_

_“Yes, sir,” the men replied, out of sync and forlorn._

_Before retiring to his tent, he entered the supply truck. The miko’s hands were chained above her, binding her to a rail of the truck’s interior. Even sitting far below him on the filthy floor of the truck, head down and body veiled, she displayed a fiery, biting grace._

_"Have you reconsidered your silence?” Sephiroth asked her._

_He could feel her glare from under the veil. She did not speak a word._

_"As you will,” he said, dropping a small bundle wrapped in a handkerchief at her feet and leaving her to be._

_With that, he retired to his own tent for the night._

_With everything but sleep on his mind, he sat at the folding table that replaced the second cot in his tent. He flipped on the military lantern and spread out maps and supply ledgers in its meager glow. There was much to do tonight. Feeding the prisoners had further drained their already scarce rations, and portions would have to be recalculated. Then there was the matter of determining what to actually do with his prisoners. He did not need all of them. In fact, after tonight, he fully anticipated not needing_ any _of them, but neither could he release them too quickly, or, perhaps, at all._

_It would be dull work, but he anticipated that in spite of it, the night would prove quite entertaining._

_As he worked, he listened, waiting. In the winter's silence, with his enhanced hearing, he could monitor nearly everything that happened within the camp. For a while, he could detect nothing of consequence. He heard his men on their patrol, and he heard when they woke their replacements several hours later. He heard one man in the adjacent tent complain that he couldn’t sleep, that this place was haunted._

_Sephiroth hummed a thoughtful note as the third shift began._

She's patient _, he thought dryly._

_But then, so was he._

_It was only into the third shift that he heard the sound he had waited the whole night for: the soft groaning of the door of the supply truck as it was opened and then slowly, cautiously, shut again._

_Sephiroth smiled in dark anticipation. The miko had found the keys he had left for her, then, and was making her escape._

_He put down his pen and closed his eyes to focus his senses on the scene unfolding just outside his tent._

_She wasted no time, hesitating only for a moment to survey her surroundings. Then, she was off. He heard her small footsteps resume - a series of rapid bursts interspersed with brief pauses of calculation as she sprinted between one point of safety and the next. He tracked her movements through the snow and found that she was following the path trodden by the guards. Eventually, she halted, likely to take cover, but she was still directly in the route of the rapidly approaching guards._

_It was a clever way to hide her footsteps in the snow, but it came with incredible risk. Would she be seen?_

_Footsteps crunched boldly in the snow as his men circled back around. Seconds passed. The men passed by once, and then twice, but each time there was not so much as a hitch in the tempo of their march. Sephiroth listened for further signs of the progress of her escape, but they did not come. There was only wintery stillness as she bided her time, waiting expertly for her chance._

_There was no cover beyond the structures of the camp. She needed ample time to get far enough away to be out of sight. If she made an ill-timed break for it, she would be found._

_The fourth shift began. The men left their routes to wake their replacements, a task that would take time. The miko took full advantage of this, dashing to ghost through the snow again._

_Sephiroth nodded, appreciating the skill with which she maneuvered. This was no miko, he knew. This was a woman born and raised in constant peril, and who had learned well from being in continual danger._

_As her footsteps faded, Sephiroth returned his attention to his calculations. He could not deny that he was disappointed to see her go. He would very much have liked to have spoken with her, this woman veiled in mystery and elegance with eyes of hellfire._

_The back flap of Sephiroth's tent was thrown aside. Sephiroth rose to his feet on instinct, but as quick as he responded, he could not deny that he had been seriously taken aback._

_The miko was standing in his tent, key and her unlocked shackles in hand, eyes ablaze._

_She had returned to the direct presence of her captor._

_It made absolutely no sense._

_For several long minutes, they stared at each other. She was unveiled now, and was not wearing her cloak of straw. Though she was significantly shorter than him, the arrogant angle of her chin let her meet his eyes on equal grounds, squared to the challenge, every whit as obstinate as he._

_She was…_ extraordinary _._

_She broke the silence by tossing the shackle and key to the table where they landed with an unceremonious clank, eyes never straying from his. “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you free me?”_

_“You did that yourself,” Sephiroth said. “And I commend your skill.”_

_"Don’t toy with me!” she seethed, voice unrestrained even in consideration of the hour or her status as a recent escapee. “What game are you playing?”_

_“I could ask you the same question,” Sephiroth said, voice cool in contrast. “Why did you return when you could have walked free?”_

_She did not answer him immediately. She did not even answer him within a minute. Slowly, he watched as her wild, sparking rage was pulled into composure, still alight, but now gathered about her into regal order, where she could wear it as elegantly as a cloak._

_“I will speak,” she said. “I will tell you who I am, and why the weapons were in our possession. In return, you will let the merchants go and you will let me walk free. Then, you will forget you ever saw me.”_

_"That’s quite the request,” he said. “I will agree to listen to your story, but the merchants must prove their own innocence.”_

_“My story will prove they are guiltless,” she said. “I will not speak until their freedom is assured.”_

_"Why should I consent?” he asked her. “I could recapture you now and let the Turks get the same information from you.”_

_“Because if you really intended to do that you never would have freed me in the first place.” She frowned, a delicate tilt of ruby lips. “You are many things, General,” she said, “but you are not a monster. You never intended me harm. Not from the very beginning. You captured me because you thought that the merchants meant to hurt me, which was also why you helped me to escape. Under your protection, and with the merchants in chains, you thought I would be safe.” Her lips pressed into a tight line. He read her thoughts clear as day in her eyes._

_She knew what he had done, but not_ why _._

_The corner of Sephiroth’s lips curled into a smirk. She caught on fast. She was smart, calculating and level-headed under her spite. She had fulfilled his expectations of her and more. It was fascinating._

_“If you knew all this, why did you return?”_

_“For the sake of my comrades,” she said. “To prove their innocence to you, and set them free.”_

_“Speak, then,” Sephiroth said as he took a seat, folding his hands and resting his chin on them as he propped his elbows on the desk. “If you can assure me of their innocence, I will release them.”_

_“Not here,” she said. “Not where there is any chance of our conversation being overheard.”_

_Sephiroth raised a single eyebrow in question as he regarded her levelly over his folded hands, considering this change in tone in their conversation. She had certainly made no attempt at subtlety up to this point._

_“The secrets I am about to entrust to you,” she said, and only here did she lower her voice, “they are not just my own. They are Wutai’s.”_

_Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. He had certainly not expected that. “Then why entrust them to_ me _?”_

_He could not tell if the ensuing silence was due to a refusal or inability to answer._

_Sephiroth waited for a moment longer, intensely interested to hear her answer, but she revealed nothing. She would not talk unless it was on her own terms._

_“Very well, then,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let us walk.”_

* * *

 

_Sephiroth had always known there was a fundamental difference between the Continents and Wutai. Their souls were deeply divergent, perhaps irreconcilable. He didn’t know what it was exactly, whether it really was the presence of gods as the Wutaians claimed, or whether Wutai really did possess magic that could defy the methodical science of the east. Either way, whatever it was about this land led him to believe, without a doubt, that the fairy tale that Yukihana had told him regarding her lineage was the truth._

_“An interesting tale,” he said when she had finished._

_“You really believe me?” she asked._

_“I have no reason to doubt it.”_

_She scoffed. “Most from the continents would.”_

_“I agree.”_

_She pondered this a moment, looking out across the frozen landscape. They were a ways from camp, the lonely lanterns set outside the tents twinkling in the distance, their winding footsteps leaving a clear path back. Sephiroth held a lamp of his own at his side, illuminating them and a barren circle of newly fallen snow around them. It was weak lighting against the looming shadow that the buttes cast._

_“So the merchants were guards,” Sephiroth said, drawing his conclusion from her story. “Escorting you to safety from your father. You were not aware of the weapons, but they were protection against your father’s forces.”_

_“Yes,” she said._

_“Very well, then. I am convinced that they are innocent and pose no threat to ShinRa. I can assure you that their freedom will be returned to them.”_

_“Thank you,” she said. “I trust you to honor your word.”_

_“You will not continue to travel with them, then?”_

_Hana turned to face the horizon, where the sun was just beginning to peek over the distant mountains. “No,” she said. “It was kind of Godo to assign them to me, and I am grateful for their faithfulness through it all, but I am most invisible when I am alone. I knew that I would part with them soon.”_

_“Where will you go?” Sephiroth asked._

_“I was not lying when I said that my grandfather has a shrine nearby. I will go there to get supplies and rest for a few days. After that,” she shook her head. “I don’t know. Anywhere.”_

_Sephiroth hummed softly. She looked like a wanderer. She was strong, as he had seen, but under it all was a weariness only exposed after she had unveiled the whole truth about who she was._

_He could…_ understand _._

_“Humor me,” she said. “And answer one question for me now.”_

_“I make no promises.”_

_“Why go to the trouble?” she asked. “You could have easily passed me by and forgotten about our caravan. You knew we weren't a threat to ShinRa, and you certainly didn’t have to protect me like you did. And don't deny it - I know that was your intention, though it was needless.”_

_“A fair question,” he said, “with a long and complicated answer. Suffice it to say that you and I are not so very different.”_

_Hana blinked, not understanding. She might have said something, but a gentle breeze stole her whisper. She looked to the sky, brows furrowed in thought._

_“I don’t understand, but it was kind of you,” she said. “And so I thank you.”_

_“There must be a better way,” Sephiroth said. “Running solves nothing, in the end.”_

_“There is no other way,” she said. “Believe me, I’ve tried it all. My father is a former SOLDIER. Besides being strong, he’s ruthless, unstable, and a diabolical genius. Wherever I am, he’s always found me.”_

_“You are so sure of it, but such obstacles mean nothing to me.”_

_Hana shook her head and laughed bitterly. “You have every reason to boast in your strength. But, unfortunately, I still remain subject to mortal limitations."_

_Sephiroth frowned. He had not meant it that way. "Power can be taught," he said._

_Hana eyed him suspiciously. "No. Even you can't beat time. I have days left, and you return to Midgar soon too."_

_"Then return to Midgar with me. Your father will not be able to reach you under my protection."_

_Hana stared at him, blankly at first, and then in rising anger. "Are you thinking about this at all? I can't just hide in Midgar. The only way that would do me any good is if I'm in your sight constantly, night and day. As soon as I leave it, I lose."_

_"Then do not leave. There is a spare room in my apartment you can use."_

_A clear wave of shock passed over her face, and she was only barely able to recover. "That's a prison, Sephiroth. Just a much more radically inappropriate one than I am used to."_

_Sephiroth did not see how it was inappropriate. He was hardly suggesting that they share a bed. From the look on her face though, she seemed to think that was the case. "I'm not suggesting that you remain locked up in my apartment. You would be free to go where you please, we simply would be sharing the same residence."_

_"Oh, is_ that _all? And while we're going that far, why not lend me the more public and legal protection of your illustrious name and take me to wife so I really can wander the streets without fear?"_

_"That seems a reasonable course of action."_

_After he had answered, he realized that she had been being sarcastic, and he had been expected to refute her. His affirmation, however, had extinguished all her ire in one fell swoop._

_She stood, staring at him, dumbfounded._

_"You would marry me," she said at last._

_“I would.”_

_Her stare changed - became vacant, confused, and perhaps more than a little afraid. “I was joking,” she said, trying to restore things back to the way they were._

_“I was not,” Sephiroth reaffirmed. With amusement, Sephiroth found that the words, while not entirely thought through at the time, were not untrue._

_He would not be opposed to marrying this woman._

_He waited for her answer to break through the shock on her face._

_“Is this some kind of proposal?” she shot at him._

_Sephiroth hummed. “I suppose it is.”_

_A million emotions were flying across her face and through her eyes, all vying for control. He watched her mouth fall open time and time again, speechless._

_“Forgive me, I do not believe I have followed proper protocol,” Sephiroth said mildly._

_“_ Proper _?” Hana screamed. Rage, it seemed, had won the fight. She bent down and flung a fistful of snow at him with all her strength. “You’re_ disgusting _! Do you think this is some kind of joke? How_ dare _you toy with me like that! You despicable…! They were right about you after all! You are a monster, you hear me?_ A monster. _I don’t know how I ever thought you could be anything different!”_

_Sephiroth calmly brushed the snow off his jacket. By that time Hana had already turned her back and was storming away, running as fast as she could to get away from him._

_The corners of his lips turned down._

_He had been too blunt. Angeal had often scolded him for this flaw of his._

_Sephiroth watched her form grow smaller and smaller with the distance. He had expected no less of her, he thought with a wry smile._

_Though it was all over, he had much to ponder on his way back to camp._

* * *

 

_Impossible. Inconceivable. The destroyer of Wutai, ShinRa’s hero, had just proposed to make her his wife._

_Hana’s thoughts were incomprehensible, running together in such a dizzying barrage of emotions that she could no longer tell the anger from the hurt._

_How could he propose_ marriage _…!?_

_She did not feel the pain in her limbs from her sprint or the cold of the snow. As a solidarity, she was confusion, she was hurt._

_"Monster,” she hissed again and again. “Sick, twisted monster…”_

_He could take any one of his thousands of fans as a bride to do whatever he wanted with. Or all of them! What did she care? She would not let herself be taken as a pretty little war bride and then tossed aside as soon as it became inconvenient._

_The monks at her grandfather’s shrine brought her food, but she could not eat. They gave her a futon and her own room to rest in but she could not sleep. As dawn and then daylight came, the predicament only became worse. The night was gone, and something left with it that could never be recovered._

_She tossed and turned in her sheets._

_The more emotion faded, the more reason spoke._

_It wasn’t just_ a _way to freedom, it was probably the_ only _way. It was the best chance she’d ever gotten, and likely the last chance she would ever get._

_He_ could _protect her. He was Sephiroth, nigh unto the god of war._

_And_ he _had offered it._

_A part of her argued that he probably didn’t mean it, to which she decided that it didn’t matter if he did or not. Plenty of people married for personal advantage – it was the first law of the Wutaian court and as much as the Continents touted a devotion to true love, the aristocracy was no stranger to the practice either._

_What was love, anyway? It didn’t protect you. It couldn’t keep you alive. In her situation, such a thing was superfluous._

_The more emotion faded, the more she knew what she had to do._

_For the hope of living a life free from the tyranny of her father, she had to marry Sephiroth._

* * *

 

_A monk came that afternoon, bearing a message meant for Sephiroth. This wasn’t the strangest thing to happen to the company that day, and the troops had no idea what it all meant. First thing that morning, the prisoners were released. No one had seen where the woman went. Next, Sephiroth had called a halt and kept them at their ragtag camp for the better part of the day._

_The men watched as Sephiroth read the thin strip of paper, and saw something change in their commander._

_It wasn’t happiness, or peace, or even contentment._

_Talking around the campfire later, after Sephiroth had disappeared without a word, they decided together that the best word for it was “resolution”._

* * *

 

_“If you really meant what you said, and are prepared to stand by it, come to the shrine in the town of Kuro tonight. -Hana”_


	43. Into the Fire

“So this is Wutai,” Zack said, turning back to the man behind him. “You said this will be your first time here, right?”

The man stared at him over the tall collar of his cloak with eyes that were as alight with mako as Zack's own - but by Minerva, they were the most sinister _red_. They burned darkly like embers against a face pale as ash. He said nothing, and only barely lifted his eyes to see the approaching shoreline. He let out something like a sigh, and closed his eyes again. Zack wondered if it was the sun. The guy hadn’t seen much of it in the last twenty-some-odd years.

“Sure is pretty,” Zack said. “Different from the continents for sure. Gets me every time.”

“We are not here to observe the scenery,” the man said. His voice was low and melodic in its own way, but it still creeped Zack out every time. It was like hearing the voice of death. As much as he hated traveling in silence, he wasn’t sure he could comfortably hold a conversation with this man either.

Everything about his newfound traveling companion was heavy and dark. He looked very much like the kind of thing you’d find in a graveyard or a nightmare or, appropriately enough to what had actually happened, the abandoned laboratory of a mad scientist. In black and red, with a body at least as much demon as human, he was death incarnate, rising from a slumber that had spanned decades to be dragged back from the depths of an eternal nightmare.

Or, as the man calling himself Vincent had claimed, he had been dragged back _into_ the nightmare.

Zack had to admit, he played the part well. He was a harbinger of darkness that would scare a grown man as much as a child. Even his aura was black, the tattered cape about his shoulders scattering the scent of death and decay as it flared in the wind.

But in the hellish depths of Nibelheim, Zack had seen what had wrought this self-proclaimed demon. He wasn’t sure himself what the ex-Turk had become, and had no desire to know any more than he did about what had caused that transformation, but for whatever reason, something about the name of “demon” just didn’t sit right with him. Under his fearsome exterior was a sort of sad gentleness amid the remnants of a broken heart.

Zack did not fear him. Not one bit. He was creepy, maybe morbid, but not frightening. He didn’t believe for one minute that Vincent was the monster he described himself to be.

“Right,” Zack said. “So Seph should be in the palace by now. Sure would be nice to get some royal treatment ourselves, don’t you think?”

Vincent said nothing, only stared at the slowly-growing figures of the towers and gates of the capital. Zack knew there had to be a lot on his mind, he just wished the man would let it out. Zack paced his unease away. He had tried to respect Vincent’s desire for silence, but it was much harder than he initially thought it would be.

So much about him reminded Zack of someone else he knew. It was a similarity in the angles of his face, his broad forehead, even the subtleties in the shape of his nose and eyes. More than looks alone, they shared the same fearsome sort of elegance that they held themselves with and a depth of soul hidden well behind walls of ice and steel. Both untouchable, shrouded in mystery, peerless, drawing attention and power without desiring it…

Zack stared at him, concentrating very hard to imagine Vincent with mako green eyes instead of red ones and silver hair instead of black.

“Okay, so you’re _positive_ you’re not Sephiroth’s father?”

Red eyes snapped to Zack, fiery once more. “I am positive,” Vincent said, each word a heavy blow.

“Because you know you kind of _look_ an awful lot like…”

“I have already told you,” Vincent said. “It is impossible.”

“Not even maybe?”

“No.”

Zack sighed, rolling his shoulders. “It’s a lot easier to believe than the alternative,” he mumbled. “Was it really _Hojo_? Honestly, Seph’s mom picked _him_ over _you_?”

Vincent’s eyes held an infinite sadness behind the rage at the mention of his greatest love and failure (Lu-something? Zack had forgotten her name). It was the same look that had quelled Zack’s initial terror at finding a live body locked in a coffin - that spark that signaled agony at the core of the anger.

“Hojo was his father,” Vincent said. “There is no doubt.”

“Yikes,” Zack said, rubbing the back of his neck now. A whole day cooped up in a bunker on the ship had made him sore. “Try to break that one to him gently.”

“I do not believe that will be possible.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Wutai grew closer, and they would likely anchor within the hour. “How will you tell him?” Zack said. “I don’t even know the whole story, but I know it’s not going to be an easy tale.”

Vincent shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well,” Zack rolled his neck and rubbed the back of it at the same time, a gesture more to break the awkwardness this time than to dispel soreness. “Thanks. I think what you have to say will mean an awful lot to him.”

“Hmph, we will see.”

Zack faced the shore and began to do squats. The foreign presence that had stayed lodged in his mind since he had read about Jenova had only intensified. Now, knowing exactly what Jenova really was, it frightened him. What had once been a whisper had grown to a buzz and now, several times he had been assaulted by a roar, a grab at his control of his body from within. Once, he had blacked out, knowing when he had awakened that he had been a breath away from losing his mind.

If _he_ could feel it, Sephiroth was bound to have it a whole lot worse.

“Hang on,” Zack said into the wind. “I brought you help, Seph.”

* * *

 

“Come on, ‘Geal, get serious.” Zack’s lips automatically dipped down into his signature “puppy pout”, but Angeal couldn’t see it from across the phone line in Midgar.

Zack’s mentor let out a chuckle, something that sounded strange and more than a little crazed, and strangely hollow. Something was pushing him to his limits over there in Midgar too. Time was running out on both ends. “I am serious,” Angeal said again, slowly. “Sephiroth is MIA. I could add that you are too, Zack. I know you are not at Costa del Sol.”

“Look, I don’t have time to explain it now! Seph’s in serious trouble!”

“You better start looking for him then. We haven’t heard from him even once since he left for Wutai, and he was supposed to report nightly. From the chaos in the capital, we assume Hana and Sephiroth never even arrived at the palace.”

Zack blinked, taking it all in. “Someone got Seph,” he said slowly. “ _How_?”

“We don’t know. We don’t know _anything_.”

“How long…?”

“A week.”

Zack swore. The whole time he was in Nibelheim, Sephiroth and Hana had been missing, and Midgar and Wutai had been barreling toward a head-first collision with catastrophe. So much could happen in a week - maybe even enough to topple two great nations.

“Is ShinRa--?”

“Get back here,” Angeal ordered. “The situation is dire and we need all the help we can get.”

“I gotta get Seph or something awful is going to happen!”

“Sephiroth can take care of himself.”

Zack grunted. It was true…right? Sephiroth _could_ take care of himself.

But something was nagging at him, telling him _this_ threat was different. That maybe Sephiroth couldn’t fell this foe. Or not alone, at least.

Zack removed the phone from his ear. “Sorry, 'Geal. I have to find him,” Zack said, and then hung up. He turned to Vincent, who had listened to the proceedings with a level face. “You’re an ex-Turk, right? How good are you at tracking missing people?”

Vincent didn’t even blink. “They’re not far.”

“How do you know that?”

“Call it instinct,” Vincent said, sweeping his cloak away with a gauntleted claw.

Behind him, a mansion not far from the palace was on fire, and they could hear distant screams carried on a wind that reeked of disaster.

* * *

 

Hana wasn’t bound when she woke up next. She wasn’t even in the cell. Confused, trying to discern dream from reality, she sat up from the futon, her only bindings a thin plastic tube that connected her arm to an IV. Had the infection gotten that bad? How long had she been unconscious?

“Sephiroth?” she asked the empty room. Was it all a dream? She had no idea. She was left alone in a spacious room with floors of tatami and walls of translucent paper. It was completely barren except for her futon and the IV standing beside her. The eerie vacancy made her uneasy.

“Sephiroth?” she asked again, louder and clearer.

The world was quiet, faded. Even the pale light through the shoji screens seemed devoid of life.

She was dressed in a white yukata, plain, but clean and soft. She shuddered again. The neckline felt strange. She lost her breath as she realized why. The front panels of the garment had been wrapped around her in the opposite direction.

Only the dead were dressed this way.

“ _Sephiroth_!” something was very wrong. She stumbled to her feet and gracelessly tore the IV from her arm. It hurt. She was not dead. But someone had dressed her as if she had been.

It couldn’t have been her husband. Even if he had believed her to be dead, Sephiroth would not have known to dress her in such a way. It had to be someone more knowledgeable about Wutai.

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, and cold fear mingled with anger in her blood.

She knew it had been her father.

“Awake, my little girl?” Through a speaker that she couldn’t see, Blackwell’s voice filled the room.

“Coward!” Hana said. “Can’t even handle my husband yourself?”

“I am a very busy man, Yuki-chan. My attentions are needed in Midgar.”

She didn’t like the sound of that one bit but had more pressing matters on her mind. “Where is Sephiroth?”

“Quite near. You could find him easily, but I wouldn’t advise it at the moment.”

“What does that mean? What did you do to him?”

“I simply told him the truth. The truth he’s been seeking his entire life. He should be grateful, really. Instead it seems to have made him a bit irate.”

“You have that effect on people.”

“Hmm…I will consider myself flattered to hold such control over the darkest depths of his soul. The man you knew as your husband is not here, Yuki-chan. You will only find harm if you confront Sephiroth now.”

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with me but I’m not falling for it.”

She took one step forward and felt cold steel beneath her feet.

Luckily, the cold made her jump back.

Under the covers of her futon, lain beside her as she had slumbered, was the terrible length of her husband’s sword.

She stared at it, confused, more than a little afraid.

“What will you do now, Yuki-chan?” her father’s voice said. “Will you take it to him? I can’t advise it, little one. As I have said, your husband is not here.”

It was just some kind of mind game, she told herself. Sephiroth would know what to do.

She just had to find him.

But she smelled smoke now. And people… _men_ …were screaming. The light coming through the wall before her was warmer than the rest. Flaring. Angry.

Without any further thought, she grabbed the sword by its hilt and ran forward, tearing through the thin shoji screens and their lacy paper.

Somehow, she knew that her husband was within the inferno.

“So be it.”

It was the last she heard of her father's voice before the roar of the flames silenced all else.

* * *

 

Zack and Vincent could not arrive fast enough.

Most of the west wing of the building was engulfed in flames, with new areas being lit from the inside every minute or so. They knew many people were inside - unfortunately, they could hear them - but no one was making it outside.

“Who would do this…?” Zack asked, appalled by the sight. “This is…too cruel….”

Vincent said nothing, the set of his jaw grim.

Outside the front gate, a red flag flew. He had seen the insignia on it before. “Hana’s father,” Zack hissed. “He must have done this!”

“Reuben Blackwell,” Vincent mused softly. “It is within his character.”

“You didn’t tell me you knew the guy!”

"I hardly thought the detail relevant.”

“Come on, Seph and Hana have got to be in there!”

The situation inside was far worse than it looked from the outside. Zack was a seasoned warrior, but the carnage before him made his stomach roil. It wasn’t just the guards that had been broken in half and left to burn - there were servants, unarmed civilians, women…

“I’ll avenge you all,” Zack swore. “I’ll make Blackwell pay for this!”

"N-Not _Burakuweru-sama_ …” a wraithlike voice choked, barely audible over the roar of the flames. “S-Se- _Sefirosu…._ ” A Wutaian soldier adorned with the symbol of the phoenix died with the name of Zack’s friend still on his lips.

Zack felt the blood rush from his face. “Impossible!”

Vincent bowed his head in acceptance. “It makes sense.”

“No!” Zack roared. “You don’t know him! He would never…this is too cruel! Just because he’s a SOLDIER doesn’t make him a murderer! He’s a good man!”

“What other reason would a dying man have to blame him?”

“ _Blackwell_ is the murderer. This is one of his awful tricks. It just…it _can’t_ be him! He would never…kill like this…”

Vincent turned to the unburned portion of the hall before them. “He likely went that way. There is little hope for the people here. It would be best to confront him and end the destruction.”

“Confront _Blackwell_ ,” Zack emphasized. “You heard it. I swore I’d make him pay.”

“I do not know if I can kill the son of the woman I loved.”

“You won’t have to!” Zack screamed as he drew his weapon and charged forward. “Blackwell is the one behind this!”

But when they broke through to a garden courtyard in the center of the mansion, surrounded by walls of flames, they saw Hana, dressed in white, face set in anger as she yelled inaudible words to her husband.

Zack’s blood turned to ice at the scene before him. Hana was hugging the bared Masamune, the blade’s tip set in the moss and the length running up the entirety of her body. She turned, but did not move, as he advanced, keeping the sword’s edge sheathed with her own flesh.

And Sephiroth, with the eyes of a madman, was approaching and reaching for the hilt of his blade.

Hana only clutched the blade tighter. “Come and take it from me then, _monster_!” she screamed.

“ _No, Hana!_ ”

But it was too late. With Sephiroth’s eyes locked with hers, and a sick and malevolent smile on his lips, the SOLDIER general grasped the hilt of his blade and savagely tore it upwards.


	44. Betrayal

Hana fell with her scream still unreleased on her lips. Without a sound, she crumpled to the ground, eyes wide and face bloodless. A savage gash of crimson ran across her body, knee to opposite shoulder, stark against the white of her yukata.

Vincent sprung like a nightmare. He fired three shots in rapid succession and forced Sephiroth back a few steps as the madman battered the bullets away. That narrow gap was all that Vincent needed to swoop down on the wounded Hana and gather her limp body in one arm. He fired again and again to keep Sephiroth at bay as he leapt out of danger, and all without his burning red eyes ever once leaving the son of the woman he loved.

It all happened before Zack even had time to process what he had just seen.

“She’s in shock,” Vincent said, his voice a darker twin to the roar of the flames. “…But she’s alive.”

“Get her to the palace,” Zack called, voice dead as he slowly drew his sword, eyes now locked with the silver general who stood untouched by the flames that had claimed so many other lives. “Emperor Godo knows who she is.”

Vincent looked for one more moment at Sephiroth and then dissolved into the waves of heat and flame.

The paper walls had ignited quickly, and the hungry flames were spreading tendrils into the garden in their search for more. The beautifully sculpted bonsai trees had already begun to catch, and petals of nearby flowers were blackening and withering before they too were consumed. The roar of the flames was now mercifully loud enough to drown out the cries of the dying, but not so loud that Zack didn’t hear the mighty wooden columns of the mansion snap and collapse like twigs. The building itself was falling, dying.

The flames would soon claim the building and all its habitants that still drew breath, but Zack stayed amid the carnage, in the heart of the heat, with the man he had called commander and friend.

“Who are you?” Zack demanded, pointing his sword at the silver wraith who wore the destruction like a regal mantle. “You’re not the Sephiroth I once knew!”

The silver specter smiled, and it was false. The malice that had burned in his eyes when he had struck down his wife was gone. Something about him was off. He was no longer the immaculate god of the wreckage he had wrought. There was unsteadiness in him, as if a master puppeteer still fought to maintain perfect composure after a central string had been cut. The actor was set, but the soul was gone.

“Do you understand what you just did?” Zack screamed at the man he no longer knew. “You might have _killed_ her!”

“It means little,” a sinister voice said through Sephiroth’s borrowed lips. “Such a frail creature, though no different from any other human, I suppose.” The Masamune, gleaming steel painted red with Hana’s blood and firelight, was raised. “Do not fear. Her pain will soon end as she passes, and you will follow her shortly.”

“What the hell are you say-?!”

Sephiroth struck fast and hard. Zack managed to put his blade between himself and his attacker, but the blow threw him backwards through a paper wall. He landed on his back and couldn’t suppress a cry - he had landed in embers, and he felt the fire eagerly grip his clothes.

Blindly, he rolled, trying to squelch the flames, but there was no release. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, and the fires were eating him alive. He would have died - suffocated or consumed, he didn’t know - if a second blow hadn’t thrown him into a spacious room whose floors were still untouched. This time, as he rolled out the flames and coughed and gasped for breath, he tasted blood, and a lot of it.

_He’s **toying** with me!_ Zack realized in horror. _He’s drawing this out for **fun**!_

Zack knew he couldn’t best Sephiroth, not in a million lifetimes. At the same time, he found he didn’t care.

He forced himself to his feet, wiped the stream of blood from his cheek with a swipe of his arm, and shouldered his sword. “Where are you?” Zack screamed.

“You should scurry away and hide like your ancestors.” Sephiroth’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Zack looked wildly around but could see no sign of the man. “Those who hid while the Cetra sacrificed themselves to save the planet from disaster. They were cowards. Traitors.

“That is your legacy, filthy _human_.”

Zack didn’t see the blow that threw him into the air. The weight of his body and the terrible momentum with which he had been thrown propelled him through the roof and onto the floor above. The floor then collapsed, too weak to withstand the blow, and he was falling again only a fraction of a second after he had landed. At the last moment, he caught onto a solitary surviving beam and dangled helplessly as he grappled for a more solid grip, feet flailing to find a foothold that didn’t exist. He lost his grip on his sword, and it clattered as it fell out of sight.

Zack swore as Sephiroth, wing extended, glided down to land soft as a breath on a ledge beside him. Zack stared at his commander’s boots and glowered. How was he immune to the fire? His hair, his wing, his clothing - something should have caught by now! And how could he _breathe_?

Zack grit his teeth and screamed a battle cry as desperation fueled his last chance at a counterattack. He reached down and grabbed whatever reserves of energy he had left and shoved it into the small orb nestled in a bracer in his arm. Once the familiar light engulfed his arm, he let go of the ledge, and as he fell, thrust his hands towards Sephiroth.

“I’m not going _anywhere_!” he screamed.

A devastating ice storm exploded from his palms.

Zack landed gracelessly, looking around for his blade. It wasn’t readily visible. He swore again. That spell had cost him dearly. Blood was now dripping from his nose.

“You dare to use materia against me?” Sephiroth said, his voice again disembodied, all around him and within him. “Materia is the condensed knowledge of the Cetra - _my_  people. It is wasted on the likes of you.”

Sephiroth’s own bracer glowed, and a flare of heat vaporized Zack’s ice. What little remained dripped to the floor below in tear-like drops.

Zack looked at the orb in his bracer, hissing at it in disappointment. It was one of the ones that Sephiroth had entrusted to him. It had been the most powerful materia he had ever used, and it had been useless. He could barely move now, having wasted the majority of his remaining strength on a useless spell. He was bleeding and bruised, and smoke was replacing precious oxygen.

His time was running out, and he did not have much fight left in him.

“You, a Cetra?” Zack asked, pulling himself up on all fours, at least. “No, Sephiroth, you are as human as I am.”

“As false a notion as it is disgusting.”

“I think I know what Blackwell did,” Zack said. “He gave you that file. Well, you know something? I read it too. Long before you did.”

“And you did not tell me? You only continue to prove that humans are helpless but to live true to their traitorous blood.”

“I didn’t believe it! I believed in _you_!” Zack cried. He could see Sephiroth now. He was standing a ways off, his dark silhouette warped by the waves of heat. He could also see his sword, lying between the two of them. He could run for it, grab it, strike…

But Zack al knew he couldn’t beat him. Not on a good day, and especially not as he was now.

He had to strike a different way.

“I went to find the real truth in Nibelheim, Sephiroth, and do you know what I found?”

“I hardly care.”

“ _Jenova wasn’t your mother!_ ”

Zack watched another string in the hand of the puppeteer snap. He had hit a chord.

“Your mother was _human_!” Zack screamed. “Her name was Lucrecia. She was a scientist at ShinRa. She was bright and happy and had the most beautiful smile in the world. She was intelligent and not afraid of anyone no matter how they laughed at her theories. The man in the red…Vincent. He knew her. He _loved_ her! He tried to save her and he-“

Zack howled as Sephiroth’s sword pierced his side. He tried to writhe away but he was impaled too deeply, pinned in place by the blade. He bowed over and choked up a mouthful of blood.

Sephiroth looked down on him and silently observed his agony. “I have always been…different….” For some reason, now he sounded like he was having trouble breathing. “I cannot be the child of a mere…human…”

What was going on? The eyes looking at him now were not those of the madman of only a few seconds ago. Something had changed.

Something had broken.

Was the old Sephiroth in there somewhere? Could he rise through the vulnerability Zack had created and reclaim himself?

Zack waited for the answer.

“I am going to meet my mother, Jenova, in Nibelheim. And I will make your filthy race pay in blood for what you have done to us, starting with you. Rejoin the planet, _traitor_ ,” Sephiroth said, and ripped the blade from his friend’s body.

Zack fell and let the world of flames whirl around him.

He knew it was finished, and he had lost.

Sephiroth, as Zack had known him, was dead.

“Sephiroth, we trusted you,” he gasped. “Hana…and I.

“And she… _loved_ ….”

* * *

 

“Let me go!” she screamed over and over again, thrashing in the arms of the guards as they dragged her from the burning mansion. “I can help! I can stop him! _Let me go!_ ”

She didn’t know a word of Wutaiese, but she would have thought that her struggling was a universal sign of discontent. The men grunted and continued to haul her toward the medical tent.

“Stop!” she screamed again, kicking wildly now. “I can stop him! I can! Let me go before I lose him!”

“You are mad,” was the response. So one of the doctors knew some Continental. The man was shriveled and bent, but his dark eyes were bright with intelligence. He spoke with a heavy accent, but she could understand him. “You need to stay. Heal. You are hurt.”

“If I don’t stop him, so many more will die!”

“You cannot stop Sephiroth. Stop your struggle.”

“ _I can!_ You don’t understand, I’m the _only_ one who can!”

"You were captive in the mansion a long time. You need food and rest.”

Her strength was going, and she hadn’t had much of it to begin with. She had been locked up in there by Blackwell for a long time, underfed, tortured a few times when she continued to resist, but she had known she would have to be strong the moment she was freed. Day and night the only thought that had kept her alive was that Sephiroth would come, and she could finally, after all these years, set things right.

It was agony to know that Sephiroth had lost himself before she had made it to him, but she had to believe that she had the power to bring him back.

“Please,” she said, falling to her knees. “Please…I need to go to him. He needs me. I can fix him. Please…I beg you…it’s all my fault. If I had told him sooner, none of this…”

The doctor looked at her. “What can you hope to do? What will words do against his sword?”

“They will heal him,” she whispered. “Heal a part of him that has been dying since he was very young.”

“You need medical care. You are hurt.”

“He is hurt so much worse, doctor. Would you turn away a patient in such dire need?”

The doctor looked to the horizon. There was no guarantee she would even have the strength to catch up to him.

But he whispered a few words in Wutaiese and the guards released her.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and then ran.

* * *

 

Zack didn’t know how long he lay in the flames. He didn’t know if Sephiroth was still there, staring at him as he died, or if he had left to rendezvous with his mother. He couldn’t imagine what was in store for Nibelheim, and only prayed that he would not be privy to it in the Lifestream.

He waited for death to come, but it wasn’t to be that easy. The emperor’s men found him first. He was dragged gracelessly out and put with a small number of other survivors, cared for by an even smaller number of flustered looking doctors.

Before he blacked out, he saw Sephiroth atop a hill in the distance, and a woman in Continental clothing running as fast as she could toward him, a swath of bright yellow cloth hanging out of her pocket.


	45. Redemption

It seemed to her that Sephiroth was actually slowing down so she could catch up to him. She gulped down her fear - there was no time for it - and continued on. She must have been a sight, still bruised with a few open wounds, but she would not stop. She couldn’t.

She tripped on the way up the hill, falling on her face, her ribs hitting a rock on her way down. She let out a sharp cry and all her limbs failed her. “No,” she moaned, struggling to contain the pain so she could manage it. It would not be tamed, stealing her breath and her vision. Her spirit was strong enough, it could take the abuse, but her body had surrendered to the siege upon it.

“Sephiroth!” she screamed. Could he hear her? Had she even gotten close enough for her haggard cry to make it to him?

She sucked in a breath and threw her head up. There, on the crest of the hill, Sephiroth stood only a short ways away, looking straight at her.

It was his burning eyes that gave her the strength to continue. If it killed her so be it, but she had to mend the damage that had been kept secret and silent for so many years.

She drew herself to her feet and slowly, step by step, breath after breath, continued toward the malevolent god on the hill.

When she stood before him at last, shaking with exhaustion, breathing hard from exertion, her mouth and throat were too dry for words. She coughed after she tried in vain to speak. She could still taste the smoke from the burning mansion in her throat.

One silver eyebrow rose. He was amused. His eyes danced with mirth at her suffering, his lips curled in a smirk. With one blow, he could finish her, and they both knew it.

Those were not the eyes she knew.

She wanted to return the light she had seen in them as a child.

“Do you remember me?” she asked, a breathy whisper.

“Remember _you_?” the idea that a god such as he could ever associate with such a pathetic creature made him laugh. “I suppose at some point in the last few hours you met my blade. That is all I remember.”

“I know you remember,” she said again, her voice a little stronger now. “I know you could never forget.”

“Succumb to your fate, human. It is over for you.”

“Not yet it isn’t!” she cried. “I’m still alive! I’ve survived--" A cough stole her breath and it took her a few moments to recover. "I’ve survived _everything_ for this moment! I survived so I could save you!”

“Save me?” Sephiroth smirked, but it was strangely lopsided. A hollow laugh came from his lips. “From what?”

The woman stared up at him, taking a moment to gather enough scant breath to respond.

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed and for the first time, he really looked at her, examining her closely. “I have met you before. You are that fangirl that Yukihana encountered in the shopping mall. Milda, was it?”

She paused, pressed her lips together. “Yes. I took on the name Milda. But…you called me…Faye.”

“Faye…?” the general repeated in a whisper. He looked at her, all malice dammed by confusion. His lips mouthed the words once more in silence.

Milda reached into her pocket and pulled out a swath of faded yellow cloth, printed with tiny white daisies and flourishes of vines in green. A long, clean cut marred the middle, the edges of the gash still stained with the shadows of dried blood despite being washed and aged until the print was almost indistinguishable.

Sephiroth drew back, eyes wide in shock. “Where did you get that?” he hissed.

“It’s mine,” Milda said. “It was my dress when I was a young girl. The dress I wore the day you called me Faye. I know you remember. You could never forget.”

“It’s impossible,” he seethed, now in anger. With a savage backhand, Milda was thrown to the ground. “Faye is dead. _I killed her_.”

Milda couldn’t rise again, but from the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her lips, she smiled. “No, Sephiroth,” she said. “You didn’t kill me. You saved my life.”

* * *

 

“Explain yourself.”

It took Milda a while to even realize that she had blacked out. It was night now, and she was lying next to a fire under the stars. She turned her head. Through the flickering flames, she could see Sephiroth.

Slowly, hissing softly as her whole body protested, she pulled herself into a sitting position. “How am I alive?” Some of her more grievous wounds had even been healed.

“I will not let you die until I have what I want from you,” Sephiroth said, tossing another small log onto the fire and giving it a jump start with another flare from a materia in his bracer. “In return for your story, I will make your death very swift. How do you know about…Faye?”

Milda hummed softly. She probably should have been afraid, but was oddly calm about the threat. She had known intellectually that this mission was suicide anyway, and at the same time, she really doubted that he would kill her. Despite seeing what he had just done at the mansion, she could not imagine him finishing her off.

He had already spared her life once before.

“Will you talk or must I coerce you?” he asked her. He was facing away from her now, looking out to the dark horizon. A small breeze played with the ends of his hair.

“No, I’ll talk. It’s what I came here to do.”

“Then begin, before I decide that you have outlived your usefulness.”

She began earnestly. “I didn’t really understand what had happened until I was much older. Pieces came slowly as I followed you in the shadows over the years. My only regret is not telling you sooner--”

“Save your pity, girl, and cut the theatrics. I seek only the facts, and none of their sentiments.”

Milda paused. “Fine then, the facts, from the beginning. We were thrown in a cell together for days, just the two of us.”

“Two weeks,” Sephiroth corrected.

She was taken aback. “That long?”

“Time passes unheeded in the science labs.” The fingers of one hand clenched slightly. “Except as a tool to measure. They would use an eternity to observe what they want to see.”

Milda nodded softly. “You would know all too well…wouldn’t you?”

“I told you I don’t need your pity. Human feelings mean nothing to me. Continue.”

“I figured out that we were part of an experiment,” she said.

“I seem to recall telling you as much very early on,” Sephiroth said.

“I know. But I didn’t understand what exactly they were trying to test.”

“Hmph. You were naive. You were young.”

“You were the same age I was.”

He turned to look back at her, one gleaming eye visible through the silver veil of his bangs. “…And?”

She knew better than anyone that he had not had a childhood. He had once been small, but he had never been allowed to be a child, not from the very beginning. She might have been the only one outside the labs who knew what kind of life he had lived, because for two weeks, she had lived it with him.

“It was a test of my obedience,” Sephiroth spoke before she had the chance to again, looking out into the dark distance. “They anticipated that I would befriend you in my supposed loneliness, and then they could test whether I would follow their command or defy them to protect you. I suspected as much from the beginning, but as the days went on and nothing happened, I allowed myself to believe otherwise.”

“That’s why you were so cold toward me at first. You didn’t want to play into their hand.”

“Indeed. But in the end, I succumbed to my weakness. I was blinded by the thought that I could live the kind of life that you and the other children in the orphanage did. I began to believe that something other than the scientists brought us together - that my time as a lab rat was done. That I could have….”

He stopped abruptly. Whatever had begun to creep back into his voice was quickly extinguished. But Milda knew it was working. She had just seen not only the absence of the monster possessing him as he burned the mansion, but traces of the wounded child that had never been allowed to move on.

“I was a fool,” Sephiroth said. “I suppose even I could not escape the taint of you filthy traitors after being raised among you. But no longer. I have transcended such useless desires.”

Milda looked into the heart of the fire. “What did they do to you?” she asked quietly, fearfully. “After you refused to kill me like they ordered you to, you were suddenly in so much pain, but I couldn’t see what was hurting you.”

Sephiroth let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Do you really want to know?”

Milda bit her lip. “It was my fault.”

“Don’t fool yourself. The purpose of the experiment was to see if I would follow their orders over my own desires. If I had continued to ignore you and developed no such feelings, the experiment would have been meaningless and you would have walked free.”

“I knew you would blame yourself,” Milda said, “And only yourself. Not even the terrible men that did this to you.”                            

“Enough!” Sephiroth roared, and the fire flared high. Milda leapt back in surprise. “No more of this. Tell me how you survived and we will be done with it.”

Milda set her jaw and continued. “You don’t remember actually killing me, do you? That’s because you fought so hard and long that you blacked out from the pain.”

“There is a cut in that cloth, and remains of blood. I hit you with my blade.”

“On accident! I rushed forward to try to help you, which was my own choice. Your sword grazed me as you fell. The wound was minor. _You never hurt me_. After you woke up, they told you that you had killed me, right? It was a lie! You never gave in, you fought with everything you had until you exhausted yourself and _couldn’t_ hurt me anymore. You saved me, Sephiroth. If it wasn’t for your strength of spirit, I really would have died that day.

“I never dreamed that you had been told that you had killed me. You have been carrying around the guilt of it for years while I was ignorantly living my dream. It's not fair. You’d been told you were a monster who murdered your own friend in cold blood when you really saved my life! I owe you _everything_ I’ve ever had.”

The air was still, heavy with the pause. Sephiroth had gone white, and was not breathing.

“You gave me everything,” Milda continued quietly. “When I was thrown in that cell with you, I was an orphan with no future. After you blacked out, Professor Gast rushed in and stopped the experiment. He helped me fake my death so I could escape ShinRa. He found a family for me. I had parents again, who worked hard to give me everything I needed. I went to college to become a writer, and got a degree in literature. Every dream I ever had since my birth parents died finally came true.

“I came back to ShinRa as a journalist so I could follow you. I wrote stories to sway the public opinion to give you…well, what _I_ thought would make you happiest.

“I wrote about your heroism in the war to get you fame and prestige. I even researched your mother with the intent to bring you the truth you’d always wanted, never dreaming that Blackwell would misuse my work against you. And I wrote those awful stories about you and your wife…and I joined Blackwell to get her away from you. I had a picture in my mind of you being loved by everyone as a hero and Hana just didn’t fit in my vision, because she saw you differently. I admit I may have been…jealous.”

Sephiroth said nothing, still staring out into the distance.

“I know why you married Hana,” Milda said softly, “and you have to go back to her.”

“Why would that human concern me?” his voice was soft and childlike.

“Because she loves you. And because with her, you were not a hero or an idol or a god - you were a human. Just like you’ve always wanted to be. And I wonder if you lo-“

Without prelude, before she could finish the word, Sephiroth spread his single wing and was gone.

Milda could not even see him leave, as dark a figure as he was against the inky sky. But as she stared, a few feathers fell and caressed her face. She cradled one in the palm of her hand.

She sat until the dawn began to break over the horizon. The sky was cloudless and clear.

Nothing could erase what she had done, but perhaps now that he knew some of the truth, he could begin to see who he really was for the first time in his life.

She was still alive. And she would spend the rest of her life working to mend the damage she had caused Sephiroth and his wife.

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered as she stroked the plumage. “You were called that as a child, and then again by Blackwell. I suppose that’s why you let yourself believe you were one today. But you never were, not from the very beginning. You’re still not.

“You’re a hero, Sephiroth.”


	46. Gravity

Zack regained his consciousness far too early for anyone’s liking.

The bright side was that he had been out long enough for his wounds to be properly treated and dressed. The worst of it was where Sephiroth’s sword had pierced clear through him, but the physicians said nothing vital had taken irreparable damage. They concluded that Zack - with mako running nearly as thickly as blood itself through his veins - was in no danger. One of the apprentices even turned green after witnessing how some of the minor cuts had scabbed over almost before they could clean and bandage them.

But Vincent knew from how long the doctors had been in with Hana and the grim silence from the room where she was being treated that the woman had not been as fortunate as her SOLDIER friend.

Which was why he had fully expected the disaster that Zack caused upon his awakening.

Vincent heard it coming from a long ways off. There was shouting, something breaking, and then Wutaian women trying to stop him in their foreign tongue. Their words would have fallen on deaf ears even if Zack could have understood them. Vincent listened as Zack’s heavy footfalls took him down the east corridor, headed towards him fast. In very little time, Zack threw the shoji screen aside and didn't bother to close it. He was so intent on his search that he didn't even see Vincent standing there.

Zack looked like the most haggard and beaten up mutt Vincent had ever seen - clearly in pain, hair askew, and patches of blood peeking through the linen tunic and trousers he had been given. Somewhere in his rampage, he must have reopened some wounds and undone all the hard work of the royal physicians that had attended to him. Zack didn’t care. He was a man held upright against the pain and exhaustion by sheer willpower.

Zack ran past Vincent a second time to the other end of the hall, throwing another shoji screen aside to send maids shrieking and scurrying away. Zack staggered, clutching his side, but whirled and prepared to dash away in a new direction again when he finally saw Vincent.

_“Where is she?!”_ Zack demanded. His voice was far too strong for his battered body.

“She is being treated,” Vincent said coolly. “You are in the royal palace. Show some decorum.”

“I have to see her.” Zack noticed for the first time how Vincent was very deliberately standing in front of a shoji screen leading to an adjacent area. Gritting his teeth, he charged head-on, aiming not for the sliding door Vincent guarded, but the paper walls themselves.

Wood and paper was no match for him. Vincent frowned as the fine walls tore and splintered as Zack gracelessly barreled through them.

Vincent followed, hoping to mitigate the damage Zack would do, but it turned out to be unnecessary. The sight stopped the SOLDIER in his tracks.

Hana was laid on a futon in the middle of a spacious room, not so much as a painting adorning the walls or a plant to dress the corners. Her hair stood out as a shock of black splayed out in limp tendrils beneath her body, her bare skin all the more pale in contrast. Her lips were colorless, slightly parted in a silent moan. Around her were no less than seven doctors, cloths tied over their noses and mouths, hands stained red as they worked in concentrated silence. At her head was a man in an opulent purple robe, head bowed and eyes closed.

The wound stretched long, deep, and dark across her entire body, from her right knee to her left shoulder.

The macabre sight sent Zack staggering back.

She looked like a corpse.

“I-Is she--?”

Several doctors muttered something in Wutaiese, irritated at the interruption. One of the doctors, however, looked up from his work. Slowly, the doctor shook his head. “No,” he said.

Zack had resumed breathing, but was not allowed to tarry. Vincent grabbed the boy by his collar and dragged him out with no resistance on Zack’s part.

The man in purple raised his head and regarded the proceedings impassively.

Zack was several shades greener when Vincent let him go, and put a hand over his mouth, holding back a retch. “That smell is chemicals to minimize the risk of infection,” Vincent said impassively, “mixed with incense that is supposed to draw the aid of the gods.”

Zack retched.  “That’s no antiseptic.“

“Not of the sort you are familiar with. We are no longer on the Continent. Medicine is different here.”

Zack was holding his stomach and groaning. Vincent felt no pity. He had been the one to charge in there.

“Now that you are satisfied that she is alive,” Vincent continued, “I take it you will cause no further trouble for the doctors that are trying to save her life.”

“No, I’ll be good,” Zack said. He was still very pale, brows drawn and forehead etched with concern. “Will she be all right?” he asked quietly.

“It’s too early to tell.”

Zack turned. The man in the purple robe had followed the two men out. He was middle-aged, with the beginnings of age lines around his eyes and cheeks and fair amounts of gray in his long beard and thick moustache. Regardless, he was solidly and stockily built, his eyes shone with fire, and his voice was that of a dragon - deep, resonating with authority and reigned-in power.

“Lord Godo,” Vincent said, with a slight dip of his head.

“Godo?” Zack asked with a start. “ _You’re_ the emperor?”

“Hmph,” Godo replied. “It is meaningless now.”

“…Should I bow, or something?” Zack asked sheepishly.

“Don’t bother, boy. I doubt you could get back up from it, anyway.”

Zack looked down at himself as if doubting what Godo said. The emperor did not wait for him to finish his self-evaluation.

“Doctor Toh is seeing to her now, along with his team of his most skilled apprentices. He is trained in traditional and Continental medicine, and is the finest in this land. If anyone can bring her back from this, it would be him.”

“You are very generous to provide your personal physician for her,” Vincent said.

Godo harrumphed. “She is the Kazehawa heir. She must not be allowed to die.” He turned a disapproving eye to Zack. “You should not be out and about either. If ShinRa finds out a SOLDIER died while under my care there will be hell to pay.”

“Well, thanks for your concern,” Zack muttered.

“You should be resting,” Vincent said, taking Zack's cell phone out from beneath his red cape. “And you should call Angeal to tell him you are safe. He has called you many times.”

“Angeal!” Zack cried, seizing his phone and beginning to dial. “Aw, man! He’s already worried enough about Seph and then I disappear too-“ His mouth clamped shut and his countenance fell as a new thought hit him. He stopped dialing, and slowly closed the phone. “How am I going to tell him about Sephiroth?”

Neither Vincent nor Godo had an answer for him.

Zack sighed from the bottom of his heart. “Any news since the fire?”

“Sephiroth has not been seen,” Godo said. “Vincent alerted us that his next target would be Nibelheim, and I sent spies to the area. They report that he is not there, either.” The emperor crossed his arms, his eyebrows sharply drawn down. “Perhaps he managed to regain hold of his senses.”

Zack looked at his cell phone in his hand. He was worn. He had endured the ultimate betrayal at the hand of his commander, watched his friend be struck down, and now waited to see if she would even survive. Even for one as energetic and spirited as Zack, it was a lot to take.

“Even if he has,” Zack said, his hand clenching tight around the cell phone, “it doesn’t change what he has done.”

* * *

 

“Hey, sleepyhead. You up?”

Hana smiled. “Zack?”

“You remember me,” Zack said. He didn’t sound his very most cheerful, but he sure was giving it a shot, and she appreciated it.

It was strange to awake to such idyllically tranquil surroundings after her last memories were of flames and a whip of crimson-stained silver lashing in a stroke of agony across her body. The room was full of precious familiarities: the tatami floors, the soft sunlight filtered through paper walls, and the firm warmth of the futon encasing her. With every breath, she became more and more reassured of the reality that the nightmare was over, and she had survived it. 

She tried to sit up but Zack’s hands were on her shoulders pushing her back down before she could get very far. “Don’t move,” he commanded sternly. “You’re badly hurt.”

“I can feel it,” Hana groaned. Beneath the stiffness of her bindings, she felt the remaining, vengeful embers of the pain that had consumed her as the blade had cleaved her flesh.

“Take it easy, sis. Slow and steady.” He reached behind her and helped to gently ease her back down to the futon. The touch was reassuring - she was safe, and she was alive.

“You wouldn’t know anything about that, Zack.”

Zack’s ensuing grin was almost real.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Hana laid back against the pillow. She loved the feel of the futon beneath her and the gentle reassuring pressure of the thick comforter covering her. Perhaps the sensation was even sweeter for having recently cheated death. “I’m alive, right?”

“Heh, yeah.” Zack gave his best shot at a smile and ruffled her hair. “You made it.” More than anything he was relieved, and she could tell. He had not escaped unscathed himself, but Hana knew the circles under his eyes had not been caused by his own pain.

Hana blinked as another figure caught her attention. “Hello,” she said to the crimson man in the corner. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Vincent Valentine,” the man offered curtly. “Zack found me in Nibelheim and brought me to assist in persuading Sephiroth of his true origins.”

“Fat lot of good that did,” Zack muttered sullenly under his breath.

“His origins?” Hana’s eyes grew wide as she thought on her memories in the fire. “Is that what this was about?”

“Did Sephiroth say something to you?” Zack asked.

“It made no sense at the time. Something about his mother, and being the rightful ruler of the planet. He spoke like he was different from me, like he wasn’t _human_.” She let out a bitter laugh. “It was the most ridiculous garbage I’ve ever heard.”

“It is not entirely false,” Vincent said. “The creature he believed to be his mother is the calamity Jenova, once thought to be a Cetra. Before he was born the scientist Hojo injected him with her cells to see if they could revive the Cetra race and their powers.”

Hana made a face. “But Jenova wasn’t his mother?”

“No. Sephiroth was born of a human woman. Of that much I am certain.”

“And his father…?” Hana trailed off, slowly looking Vincent over, up and down from head to toe, but focusing especially on the face half-hidden by his cloak.

Crimson eyes narrowed at her examination and insinuation. “…Is _not_ me,” Vincent said. 

Hana looked to Zack, who shrugged. “Fine, then,” she said. “So we know the truth. We have to get it to him.” With that, as if it really was that simple, she sat up and pulled the comforter off her.

“You’re not serious, Hana?” Zack said, throwing the blanket back over her legs again. “You can’t go anywhere like this!”

“I am serious,” Hana said, and she sounded it, wadding up the blanket into a large ball and thrusting it into Zack’s chest. “And I’m serious about going _now_ before anything else can happen to my husband.”

“He _completely lost it!_ ” Zack said. “Are you just going to forget about that? About what he did to you?”

Hana met Zack’s eyes straight on, unafraid, steeled with almost frightening resolve. “You know that wasn’t Sephiroth,” Hana said. “I don’t understand what happened, but I know my husband, and he was not there in the flames with us. He didn’t do this to me, and if I don’t blame him, you certainly have no right to either.

“Now I’m going to find him before something like this can happen aga-“

The blood drained from Hana’s face, and her breathing stopped. Her eyes were wide and terrified.

“Hana?” Zack called, alarmed. Vincent’s attention had been drawn as well, and he moved a step forward. “What is it? What happened?”

She didn’t answer at first. Slowly, she moved her hands up to her face, clenching and relaxing her fingers, then placing a hand on her wounded shoulder to see that it still rotated. Timidly, she fingered the line of the wound down her yukata, tracing it across her body to where it ended at her knee. She took a deep breath in and furrowed her brow in concentration, but no further movement was made.

She was breathing again now, but too quickly. She clutched her chest and swallowed hard. “I’m sure it was just-“ But as suddenly as the first time, she stopped in her tracks.

“Vincent,” Hana said, and her voice was strained, tiny, and too high. “…I want to see the doctor. Now.”

“What happened?” Zack grabbed her shoulders, panicked. “What is it? Hana, please, talk to me!”

“Doctor,” she said. “Please…”

Vincent ran away quickly. He had suspected from the moment the wound had been inflicted, and by the darkness in her eyes, he believed Hana already knew what was wrong without having to hear it from the doctor.

“Hana, are you in pain? Hey, sis, stay with me,” Zack embraced her, pressing her head into his shoulder and holding her tight. She was strangely, deathly still. “Breathe, Hana,” he reminded her, patting her back.

“I can’t--“ her voice was so small that he didn’t hear the rest.

“It’s gonna be okay. Vincent’s bringing the doctor.”

“I can’t--my leg--it’s not…”

* * *

 

“There has to be something you can do!” Zack cried. “You can’t…she can’t be…!”

Doctor Toh’s eyes were dark and sad under thick white eyebrows. “There is nothing else I can do, young one. I am sorry. We did our best with what equipment we had. I’m sorry to say it wasn’t enough.”

“Could it be fixed with surgery?”

“It may have been possible had she received very specialized care immediately after the wound was inflicted. But it has been far too long. It's too late.”

Hana had pulled her yukata up past her knee, revealing the scar there, far thicker and darker than the stroke across the rest of her body. The area above her kneecap was sunken in, a strange and sinister hollow beneath the mending flesh. Ghosts of green bruises still flared wildly from the area. Even worse, the bump of her kneecap was abnormally low. It made Zack sick just to look at it and think that it would always be that way.

Godo swept the hem of his robe over Hana’s leg to keep her from staring at it in disbelief any longer. “Enough, Yukihana,” he scolded firmly. 

“Materia, then!” Zack cried, grasping at any hope there was left. “Can you fix it with materia? There’s got to be materia somewhere powerful enough to--”

“There is no materia in Wutai,” the doctor said. “Not after the war.”

“But _somewhere_. A really high level…it has to be able to fix…”

“Boy,” Toh said softly, reaching a weathered hand up to place it on Zack’s shoulders. “Materia is the knowledge of the Ancients. The higher the level, the greater the knowledge, but,” he shook his head, waves of thin, white hair swaying, “it would take a level of materia I have not seen in my entire life to fix such a wound.”

Zack turned his back to the doctor and threw all his weight into a blow at the paper wall as he let out his rage in a furious cry. The wood crumbled like toothpicks, the paper rending at his touch. The materia in his arm bracer was flaring. “You’re the best doctor in Wutai! There has to be _something_ …!”

“Zack,” Hana called softly, looking up from the folds of Godo’s purple robe for the first time.

“Don’t you say it!” Zack screamed at her. “Don’t you tell me you can forgive Sephiroth after what he’s done! He gutted you like a fish, and then he _crippled_ you!”

Hana’s eyes were blank, his words washing over her.

“Your anger serves no purpose,” Vincent said. “What’s done is done.”

Godo crossed his arms over his chest. “You should have known this was coming. Her leg was cut clear to the bone - not a shred of muscle or tendon still attached. Any fool could tell you that such a wound would be disabling. It’s fortunate enough that she survived at all.”

_“She’ll never walk again!”_ Zack roared, and from his hand flared a burst of ice. “She’ll carry this for the rest of her life!”

“Zack,” Hana tried again. “Please.”

It took several moments, but Zack began to calm. He covered his eyes with a hand. “Emperor Godo,” he pleaded. “You’re the emperor, please…there has to be… _something_.”

Godo lowered his head. “It is as Doctor Toh has said,” he said. “It is done. Your time would be better spent looking forward than looking back.”

Zack stormed out. Hana watched him go before she lowered her head, her expression hidden in her inky hair.

“I had hoped to not disturb you further until your strength returned, Hime-sama,” the doctor bowed deeply. “Forgive me. I did not wish for you to find out this way.” With only that, the man excused himself.

Now that the room was devoid of Zack’s anger and the doctor’s sorrow, it was deathly quiet. Hana neither moved nor spoke, eyes glazed over and unseeing. Seconds, then minutes passed in silence.

“Do you want to be alone?” Vincent asked.

Hana blinked several times before she turned her face out of the veil of her hair and looked up at Vincent. “I want to talk to Sephiroth,” she said quietly.

“He hasn’t been seen since the incident,” Godo said.

“Vincent…?” Hana whispered, eyes wide and pleading.

The man in the cloak turned, crimson wafting around him as more of a force than cloth. “I can take your message to him, as I have words for him as well, but I can’t promise he will come.”

“Please,” she said. “Try. I need to see him.”

Vincent nodded once and disappeared.

* * *

 

That night, Hana could not sleep. She did not know where the rest of the day had gone, all the answers were lost inside a cold haze that had raged around her as she sat on her futon. At some point Zack had come, murmuring apologies. She had sent him away. She hoped she had not been too harsh about it. Someone brought a meal that she had stared at but not touched. Finally, when she came to herself enough to notice the darkness around her, she had laid down, too tired even to pull the comforter over her, and tried to close her eyes.

Not a single tear had leaked from her eyes all that day, but they burned. When she closed them, she saw and felt fire strong enough to overpower her exhaustion. She stared up into the ceiling and neither thought nor felt.

Against the stillness of the winter’s night, the sound of the shoji screen opening was a soft but discernable whisper. Hana had only the resolve to turn her eyes to the source of the sound, where a familiar man dressed in peasant’s clothing held a single candle.

“Papa?” she whispered into the night. Slowly, the figure approached her, setting the candle beside her. She was filled with warmth as familiar dark eyes gazed at her.

“Pa,” Hana choked, taking the hand he had placed on her cheek. Her eyes stung fiercely. “Papa, you’re safe.”

Pa did not say a word, only smoothed Hana’s bangs and straightened the pillow beneath her head. He pulled the blankets over her properly, tucking them around her.

“But…Ma!” Hana said. “Is she okay? Is she here?”

Pa’s shoulders fell, and he shook his head, hands never pausing from their work.

“What happened?”

Pa did not answer. With a small, sad smile, he began to stroke her brow. The rhythm, the candlelight, and Pa’s gentle presence soothed her soul, and she closed her eyes at last.

“We’ll find her,” Hana said. “I promise.”

Pa hummed a single note and pulled the comforter up to her neck.

As sleep began to creep closer, Hana felt a single tear in her soul break free and gently, silently spill from the corner of her eye. Warm, weathered hands let it fall before drying the trail of wetness down her face.

“Pain,” she thought she heard him say as she succumbed at last to sleep, “opens the heart.”

That night, she dreamed she was falling. No matter how long she plummeted to the earth, there was always a figure beneath her, nearer to doom even than she - a figure with a single wing lying limp and helpless against the power of the fall.


	47. Ripples

Zack wanted to take Hana back to Midgar as soon as possible. Angeal would know what to do - he had always been good at inspiring people and Zack was running out of ideas himself. He wanted to get her on her feet again - _literally_ \- and out of Wutai. Medicine was better on the Continent. There had to be some new treatment that Doctor Toh didn’t know about, or at least some experimental healing-type materia on steroids somewhere in ShinRa’s stockpiles of the stuff. ShinRa had its own materia production lab, so there had to be something useful they could cook up. Heck, even _Hojo_ might be a valid source of help at this point - given proper limits and supervision of course. What else was science good for? Besides, she had a home there, right? And if Sephiroth wasn’t back, she could do as she pleased, at least for a little while.

Hana's vicious glare at his proposition was her answer.

_Well…can’t say I blame her._

He tried to use more subtle ways to get her to agree to go back. He talked throughout the day of movies, seeing Loveless live on stage, the city lights from atop a hill outside the city walls - none of it drew her interest. That night, he found a hamburger joint in town and remarked about how good it was and how he missed delicious, monster-sized portions of meat and cheese and carbs. She had taken a few bites to be polite, but in the end, he found five-sixths of the thing uneaten in its wrapper beside her bed that night, placed on the tray of Wutaian delicacies that had been similarly untouched.

He hated to disturb her after she’d gone through so much, but there was only so much longer he could afford to be subtle.

His time in Wutai was running out, and he would rather die than see her waste away alone in this place.

* * *

 

“They hurt my arms,” was the first thing she said.

“It will get better with time and practice,” Godo assured her. “You will gain strength fast.”

Hana was upright for the first time since the incident, but only with the help of a pair of crutches. Godo had sent a request to the craftsmen the previous morning, and she had been presented with them nearly on ceremony less than twenty-four hours later. She had no idea why Godo had gone to the trouble of trying to make such ugly and painful things beautiful. No silk or lacquer in the world could hide the galling truth that she was still trying to swallow: she would never walk on her own again.

But she had not been permitted to simply stare at them forever.

Even being on her one good leg didn’t feel as good as she imagined it would. She knew she couldn’t stay down forever, but there in the futon, she could pretend that she had the ability to get up, while here, her wounded leg dangling uselessly, the truth was undeniable. She felt like she’d lost a part of her, and she supposed that in a very big way, she had.

“So how do I move?” she asked, gritting her teeth to hold back her emotion. _You’ll feel better once you can move around again_ , she told herself, though she suspected that it was a lie, too.

Doctor Toh gave her a short demonstration on a smaller and plainer pair, and slowly, Pa grasping her upper arm tightly, she took a deep breath and swung her good leg, and then the rest of her weight forward on the crutches. She was grateful for Pa’s strong grip on her, because without it, she felt she surely would have lost her mind as she crumpled to the ground, both crutches striking her on the way down to add injury to insult.

“It will take time to adjust to,” Godo said with a frown.

Hana said nothing. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Her breath came in unsatisfying heaves and her arms were shaking. She bit her lip to contain her cry of despair.

Pa grabbed her hands and clenched them tightly. There was so much warmth and strength in those brittle, weathered hands.

With a shuddering exhale, she contained the forces threatening to consume her.    

The crisis had passed, for now.

“I’ll keep practicing,” she said. “Thank you, Lord Godo.”

“I hope they serve you well,” Godo replied, sounding somewhat doubtful about it himself. “In truth, they are only part of why I have come to visit you tonight. There is an important matter that you and I must discuss.”

“I can’t take any more important matters. Wait until tomorrow, I want to rest.”

“This cannot wait, Kazehawa-sama,” Godo said brusquely. “I apologize, but it is urgent.”

The use of her family name chilled her to the bone.

He was talking matters of state. There was no other reason to remind her of her bloodline, or how she was tied to this place - to _him_.

_This is a bad idea…_

Pa frowned deeply and pushed a lock of Hana’s hair behind her ear. He looked concerned, and angry. “What is it?” she whispered to him. Pa only narrowed his eyes at the emperor and defensively pulled her back toward the futon. Godo’s expression was tired, and Pa’s fierce. The reversal made Hana extremely uncomfortable.

“Fine,” she conceded at last to Godo. “But we will talk civilly, with dignity befitting our ancient bloodlines, over tea.”

“In private,” Godo said, looking at Pa who squeezed her arm in a warning that screamed in the marrow of her bones.

“…Very well,” she said softly, placing one hand over Pa’s to ease it off.

“I will have tea brought.”

“Don’t hurry,” she said beneath her breath.

* * *

 

Pa helped her get back to the futon, and even helped to wrap a more formal kimono around her body. She smiled at his gentleness, and wondered if he ever had a daughter. Few men knew how to tie an obi, after all.

He fussed over her in silence for a long time, smoothing her skirt, straightening her long sleeves so they hung just-so around her. He tucked the lengths of fabric beneath her, arranging her kimono with meticulous attention to detail, until it looked like she had alighted gracefully and sat properly instead of being confined to the ground to begin with.

He took a brush and began to fix her hair, gently drawing its thick lengths through the bristles until it hung in a straight and sleek veil down her back. He gave her a hand mirror and placed a kit of makeup on her lap. As she began to paint her face an alabaster white, she heard Pa pulling a full-length mirror behind her.

When she had applied her makeup, he tilted the hand mirror so she could see the back of her kimono through the reflection in the mirror behind her.

Hana lost her breath.

He had expertly folded her obi into the shape of a wing, folded material extending from the center of her back and up past her shoulder in a powerful, thick arc.

“Beautiful,” Pa said with a sad, soft smile on his face.

Hana held back her tears. Crying would ruin her makeup - the kohl would stain her tears black as night and the red paint from her lips would drip like blood.

_Why?_ She asked herself silently, eyes fixed on the arc of the fabric wing on her back. She cleared her throat. _“Nande?”_ she asked Pa aloud.

“Don’t forget who you really are.”

_I am a Kazehawa. I am bound to the emperor, to the throne. Whatever he wants of me, no matter how much I hate it, I’ll still have to do it…_

But the wing on her back was clearly not to remind her of that.

_Sephiroth…_

The ache in her heart was too deep for words.

* * *

 

Hana had been acting very strangely since she met with Godo earlier that evening. Zack found out too late that the emperor had said something to her in private, over a very formal tea, with both of them in very formal wear. Zack was against the idea of her engaging in anything formal. Formal meant serious, and Hana didn’t need one more serious thing on her plate, even a small one. He hated how Godo had put even more on her when she had already suffered far too much far too fast.

Not, he thought sadly, that he wasn’t about to do the exact same thing.

The bright side was that she had gotten a change of scenery. She had been moved into a room that Zack thought was much more fitting for a royal guest. Despite the room being filled with more items, as the last one had not, this one felt much less stuffy. Maybe it was the large, circular windows that looked out over a charming garden path to the north and a steaming hot spring to the east, or maybe the charm of the Orient in the beautiful calligraphy and paintings on the wall, or maybe still the familiarity of things with which to live - a wardrobe with bright clothing, a mirror and make-up kit, house slippers, a wash basin and a kotatsu topped with dainty china dishes.

Hana was playing the koto now, her thin fingers deftly dancing in a slow melody. The notes were haunting, the melody bittersweet, and the words quietly whispered in her mother tongue heavy. Pa sat beside her, silent as ever, but his hand was on her arm. For some reason, Zack got the feeling that Pa understood her on a level that he couldn’t himself.

“Hey, Hana?” he asked.

“Hm?” she hummed, her fingers forming one last dying chord before she stilled the strings with a delicate press of her palm. 

“I have to go back to ShinRa. Tomorrow."

Hana raised her eyes.

“I don’t want to,” Zack said. “I want to stay with you and help you heal. But things are getting bad back there. SOLDIER is in trouble, and ‘Geal and Genesis can’t handle it on their own much longer. They’re going crazy.”

“I understand,” she said. “My father must be wreaking havoc. You should go and help them.”

“Come with me?”

She was struck hard by the question. “Zack...”

“It’ll just be you and me. You can stay at my place. Or even better, I’ll get a new place! It may not be much, but I can get us a flat outside the ShinRa building. You’ll never have to go to ShinRa again if you don’t want to, and I can take care of you there. You won’t have to be alone.”

Pa took Hana’s hand. “I wish I could go with you, Zack, but I can’t,” Hana said.

“Why not?”

Hana lowered her eyes in evasion. She’d been doing that all day, just staring out into space. Zack was afraid of what she was seeing through her dead, vacant eyes.

“Think about it?” he pleaded, putting on his best puppy face. Inappropriate though it was for the situation, it had gotten him places in the past.

“Zack,” Hana said, giving one hollow chuckle at what was doubtlessly a ridiculous expression on his face. “I will. I will think about it tonight and give you my answer in the morning."

* * *

 

Hana could not sleep. She wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t been able to since the incident.

She missed Pa’s presence, and Zack’s too. But the two of them were tired. She had sent them away for the night, hating to see them go but wanting to be alone at the same time. They deserved rest. After all, they hadn’t gotten much of it these past few days either.

The bright side of the meeting with Godo was that now she was so overwhelmed as to be entirely past feeling. The pain was gone, and even the almost physical ache in her heart was dulled so much that it took very little to distract her mind from it.

The moon was full tonight, its pale light spilling in from the window overlooking the onsen outside her room. She smiled hollowly at the sight. It was beautiful - the earth wrapped in the white of winter gleaming silver under the light of the moon. Steam rose from the water’s surface, a haze that wreathed the landscape in a warm, living softness, and making all but the nearest features fade into gentle nothingness. Tendrils of mist rose from the depths of the pool, illuminated by the moon and rising up as if to return to that distant world in the skies. Hana was entranced by the beauty before her and let herself dream for a moment that she could drift away as easily as the vapors.

How long had it been since she could let the scalding waters of the onsen burn away her cares as the minerals of the planet restored her? She had been a child, still in her mother’s arms, young enough to scream at the strength of the heat of the water straight from the heart of the earth.

She turned her head to find her crutches beside her.

It wasn’t far, just a handful of steps to the door and then a few more to the embrace of the waters….

It was not easy, and it was not quick, but she did it.

The winter’s air, tinted with the promise of warmth from the steam, was like an elixir. Strength flooded through her limbs, and she had not even stepped into the pool yet. She smiled, letting her crutches drop to the ground. She would not need them, not as she rested weightless and free in the arms of the waters.

She did not hesitate as she untied her obi and let her yukata and then her undergarments fall to the ground. Everyone else was far away. There was no need to be ashamed or afraid. She shuddered once with the chill of the winter’s night against her bare skin before she breathed in the mists anew together with their promises of warmth and healing.

A few more steps, and she could escape.

She allowed herself to draw several more breaths as she closed her eyes and drifted, free as the wind. Renewed, using a large boulder for support, she was able to maneuver to the edge of the water and gaze deep into its dark depths.

Under the tendrils of mist, the water’s surface was smooth as glass. Small lanterns hanging above cast enough light that she could see everything around her reflected in the surface as perfectly as a mirror. She saw the dark silhouettes of trees, branches spread wide despite being bare, and the caps of white resting there while the leaves retreated for the season. She followed the intricately intertwining branches further out into the waters with her eyes, stretching into the distance, clarity never fading.

The branches led her to him.

Her eyes widened and she gasped at the clarity with which she could see him in the mirror of the waters. Under the mists, she could see him in staggering detail - the fey glow of his otherworldly eyes, the silver veil of his hair - the sight made something bubble up inside her that made her feel like a girl again, younger, freer.

She reached her fingertips out over the water’s surface. He seemed so real that she almost believed if she could reach out she could really touch him, that he really was here in this world of mist and warmth and moonlight with her.

But something was wrong. The image of him in the waters faltered. She heard some sort of choked noise that hadn’t come from her, and then, as the water settled again, she was jarred from the dream and back into reality.

The image wasn’t right! His eyes were too wide, his controlled and guarded expression gone, twisted, anguished. _He_ was choking - she saw his lips part as he suffocated, even as his eyes were fixed forward, unable to be torn away.

On Sephiroth’s face was an expression of absolute, abject horror.

He could not speak.

He could not even breathe.

_My wound…!_

She made a grab for her yukata but it was too late. He had seen what he had done, the proof of his betrayal carved into her flesh. Still shaking from her none-too-gentle return from her daydreams, and off-balance from her mad grab for her clothes, she threw her arms around herself, as if such a feeble gesture could really hide anything.

Even if she could have, it was already too late. She knew from the look on his face that he had seen everything, including the crutches at her side and how the leg marked with his blade hung useless and limp.

Sephiroth turned his back and ran.

“Wait!” she cried, frantically reaching for him. “Sephiroth, wait! _Stop_! Come back!”

Her screams were useless.

In a final, instinctive attempt to reach him, she sprung forward, and though her spirit was strong enough to follow in pursuit, her leg failed her and she crashed into the water.

She did not even have time to scream before she was submerged, but then she did, all her air escaping her as she cried out from the sudden, fierce burn. She writhed beneath the surface, disoriented, the pain in her heart and the burn from the water searing all coherent thought from her. She tried to escape, kicking her good leg as quick and hard as she could and flailing her arms wildly, but it was useless - she could not figure out how to swim with one of her legs hanging like deadweight.

She panicked in the heat and heartbreak, floundering for air. A second cry as her good leg hit a stone caused her to suck in a mouthful of water. Somehow, gasping and sputtering, she found the surface just before her world went black.

“Sep--!” she tried, using her precious breath to try to call him back. “Wait! **_Come back!_** Sephi-!”

She could not keep her head above the water, and was submerged again. The longer she stayed under the surface, the less she could think, the more she panicked, and the further she sank. She didn’t know how many times she fought her way to the surface only to fall again, wasting breath and energy on calling to someone who was already long gone but unable to stop.

**_"Come back!!"_ **

One foot hit the bottom of the pool, so she finally knew which way was up, but at that point, she could do little about it. She’d lost. She fell to rest on the bottom, and stroked the stone with her hand, her tombstone in this watery grave.

Just before she gave in to the urge to draw her last breath and die, strong hands seized her and ripped her from her resting place, rocketing to the surface.

She was roughly dropped to the stone and hit repeatedly and hard on her back. Water and bile spilled from her mouth and she choked on the air that was far too sweet, far too heavy.

“You _idiot_! What were you _doing_?!” Zack screamed at her, striking her back again and forcing her to expel another mouthful of water. The blow hurt and she cried out, but he didn’t seem to hear her. “ _What were you thinking?!_ What about your situation made you think a little swim was a good idea? Huh?”

“Her wound,” a second voice said, concerned. “She’s reopened it. I’ll awaken Doctor Toh.”

“ _Stupid!_ ” Zack roared, pounding his fist into the stone next to her. His ferocity did not frighten her. She knew that this anger was only a false voice for his fear.

“S-Seph--” she sputtered.

“ _He_ was here?!” Hana regretted telling him that, but she nodded. “All the more reason to… _why would you_ …?!”

Hana’s chest was heaving and she was shivering. Zack grabbed his shirt to remove it and give it to her, but he was as sopping wet as she was. “Get me a towel or something!” he called after the second man.

Eventually, she was wrapped in blankets and carried inside, but until the last moment when the shoji screen was closed behind her, she did not take her eyes from the horizon where Sephiroth had vanished.

_“Come back…please…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese Translation and Culture Notes:
> 
> 1) Nande - "Why?"
> 
> 2) Koto - a traditional instrument, sort of like a harp that sits on your lap.
> 
> 3) Yukata vs Kimono - A kimono is extremely formal wear, and the sleeves are much longer (almost touching the ground). A yukata is lighter, more casual, and the sleeves rarely extend past the waist.
> 
> 4) Obi - The wide strip of fabric that holds a yukata or kimono closed. For a kimono, the obi is generally wider and more ornate.
> 
> 5) Onsen - Hot spring


	48. Secrets in the Lifestream

The two bases of Sephiroth’s theory had proved correct, he noted with some degree of satisfaction. Firstly, here, submersed in a spring of raw mako, his mind was clear. Jenova was a being foreign to the planet, and the Lifestream rejected her. It might have been how she had managed to stay in stasis for the past two millennia, not truly able to either live or die. Her absence caused a strange hollowness in what he might have called his soul; she had always been with him, if only recently discovered. To his surprise, he found the emptiness quite liberating.

Secondly, tangled in the web of the Lifestream’s waves was everything he wanted to know, if he could only find it.

This was, of course, the first time he had willingly exposed himself to the lifeblood of the planet. He was no stranger to mako and its effects, but it was a vastly different experience entering it in its raw, natural state. In the labs, a refining procedure acted more or less like a cosmic blender. The memories of countless lives were indistinguishable because they had been so finely hacked and mixed. Here, memories lived on more as waves than a liquid, coming and going, some as light as a fleeting thought, and others a deluge of senses and emotion.

He knew all too well that such exposure drove men mad, and so as he searched, he clung to two fundamental things: who he was, and why he was here. The rest had quickly been stripped away.

The physical burn of the mako had faded faster than he had expected, and he wasn’t sure why. For whatever reason, the battle was solely in his head now. He focused all his energy on passing through the waves without feeling them, prodding for what he was looking for, touching, but never grasping.

_Materia_ , he sent out the thought. The waves around him rippled in response, and he thought he saw a spark run into the distance like a signal down a neuron. In response, he felt someone’s disappointment in their inability to use materia, and another’s fear at once having been burned by a botched cast. Some of the answers came in the form of images, others were in words, and still others as a wave of understanding too quick for either. It took everything in him to retain his own senses in the barrage of others’.

He frowned, watching his spark ripple even further into the distance to ignite a thousand others. There were too many signals, and too few of them relevant. He was overwhelmed. _Healing_ , he modified, hoping it would filter out some irrelevant memories instead of inspire more. The memories shifted in response. Gratitude that a healer had been there for a broken leg, awe at seeing flesh knit together, but undeniable flickers of sadness from the dead.

_It wasn’t enough._

He pushed harder, unsatisfied and even angry at the response. _Stronger_ , he forced. _Something stronger_. _Where can I find it?_ Tendrils of the Lifestream, aglow with desire, were reaching out to caress him. He revolted at the touch.

The images he got clearly belonged to amateurs. Materia mastery was rare, after all. He saw a town healer and his level two Restore, a girl in Junon who had just picked up a newly minted orb at the corner store, and a boy who had pick-pocketed a fairly powerful materia from a lower level SOLDIER but had never been able to heal as much as a scrape with it.

His frustration began to mount. There was too much information, none of it was usable, and the Lifestream was eager to consume him. He’d be well and truly mad before he found anything of use unless he could find a better way to sift through it all.

He had hoped to avoid the tactic, but he knew now that the waves responded to his own thoughts, and it was all he had. He steeled himself, and felt the memories batter him as he refocused his energy from keeping memories out to projecting one in the distance.

This time it was not a spark that he summoned, but a ghostly image of Hana, standing at the edge of the pool, the long wound stark against the canvas of her bare skin.

The flood of responses was staggering.

_That looks bad_ , one said. _Miracle enough she survived. I had a patient…_

_A wound like that killed my Pa. He was working the railroad one day…_

_Poor girl…_

_…never got to walk again…_

_…merchant brought a chair with wheels…_

_…she’ll never be the same…_

_…can’t fix something like that…_

Sephiroth clamped down on his defenses and violently shut them out. With a swipe of his hand, the misty form of his wife dissolved and flew away like fireflies, their light sparking randomly at first but then settling back into the steady ebb and flow of the Lifestream as the image dissipated.

Rattled, and feeling his memory starting to wear away already, he thought bitterly that he had failed. He could not stay. Resigned, if angrily, he began to funnel his energy back to his physical body so he could haul himself out of the pool.

Until a woman’s voice, soft and sorrowful, made him pause.

_My dearest Hana…_

In a rush, he seized this wave of thought. The effect was strange - he felt it ripple through his physical and mental self. The entirety of another being rushed in to share his body, a bigger presence than he ever would have expected. For whatever reason, this spirit had remained undiffused for all this time, and now, he was acting as its host.

A light spread around him, and he was shielded from the caustic waves of the Lifestream. His mind was more or less his own again, though this woman was close, lingering far nearer to his thoughts than he would have liked.

_Who are you?_ Sephiroth asked the presence. _How do you know Hana?_

_I am Aika Kazehawa._

The woman’s thoughts were as clear as a bell, if slightly discolored with time, and she threaded a handful of images into his mind. He saw Hana as a young child struggling to retain her grasp on a slippery river fish she had caught. He saw her as an awkward adolescent wandering down the streets in Wutai with her head lowered in shame, her hair covering her face. He saw the first time Hana had been presented to Godo as an infant dressed in resplendent silks, and the moment when Aika had first held Hana as a mewling newborn, tears streaming down the faces of both the mother and the daughter.

Sephiroth withdrew, shocked by the intimate entwining of their minds. He did not wish to share in this as deeply as Aika clearly wanted him to. Aika quietly respected the distance. As much as Sephiroth would have preferred for her to be entirely _out_ , he appreciated the gesture. 

_And you are my son through marriage,_ she said, and Sephiroth felt the warmth of Aika’s soft smile. _It is a pleasure to meet you._

Sephiroth did not reply.

_My daughter was very near to this place, close enough that I could read her memories,_ Aika said softly, sobering. _I know what has happened._

_Where is the materia to heal her?_ Sephiroth asked. He would discuss nothing else with this woman. He did not think he would be able to retain his sanity if he did.

_I’m not sure it can be done._

_It can._

Aika paused. _There may be a way. But not in the world below. Here, in the Lifestream, I might be able to do it._

_What do you mean?_

Aika did not answer his question. _I will try. It is all I can promise._

And then he _saw_ her. She was not the greenish hue of the Lifestream, but a brilliant white, wreathed in an otherworldly glow. He saw what may very well have been an older version of Hana, nearly the same face, and the exact same eyes. Just as Hana had from the very beginning, Aika looked at him without fear.

_But humor me one last time. If I do this, I will never be able to ask you again._

_What do you mean by that?_

Again, Aika left his question unanswered. _Son, why do you run from her? When our minds touched, I could feel your heart. I know how you feel for her._

Time froze, and Aika breathed out slowly, closed her eyes, and reached a hand forward, pressing it to his chest. Slowly, gently, she eased her spirit past his flesh to touch his heart.

Sephiroth stood immobilized at her ghostly touch, something like electricity shooting with amazing speed and power through his entire body. There was no pain, and it might have even been soothing, but that did not stop the fact that she had come uninvited. He stared at the spot where her wrist stopped, hand disappearing inside him. Despite her infuriating insistence on ignoring all his barriers - even the ones as strikingly obvious as his _skin_ \- he was powerless to do anything about it.

The action reminded him of someone else he knew that shared those same, dark eyes.

Aika’s brows drew together in concern at whatever it was that she was sensing. She withdrew her hand. _Despite seeing it all, I still do not understand it._

_There is no need for you to,_ he said, not without irritation. _I came here only for the healing materia._

_And after I give it to you?_ She turned her eyes on him, unafraid of her own question, glimmers of a familiar fire sparking in her eyes. _Will you heal her and then disappear out of her life? What a terrible cruelty to mend her body and leave her heart in pieces._

Sephiroth was tired of playing this game. _Your time on the planet has passed. It is of no concern to you what I do next._

_It is of infinite concern to my daughter. When she came here, a hair’s breadth from death, she was not full of anger toward you, even after what you had done to her. She was only sad and confused._

_Why are you telling me this--?_

_She loves you._

Sephiroth pressed his lips into a fine line. As much as he desired to meet the intensity in Aika’s eyes, he could not. The words twisted something very deep and painful within him.

_I know,_ he said at last. And it was all he could say. He was done talking about it.

_Then go,_ she said with a sad smile. _Return. Do what you will. Perhaps it is none of my business, as you have said. The dead have no place among the living. But take this last piece of knowledge with you: your mother, Lucrecia, is not here in the Lifestream._

Sephiroth considered the utterance carefully. _Are you saying my mother is alive?_

_I do not know. I only know that she is not dead. You will have to find the truth yourself, as I cannot see into your world any more._

The way she worded that disturbed him.

_I have a favor to ask, before I give you what you seek._

_What is it?_ Sephiroth asked. For some reason, her glow was strengthening, but also becoming greener, more like the color of raw mako.

_Deliver my final words to my daughter…the secret I died to protect, and the reason I have lingered undissolved in the Lifestream for so long. Now the time is right, and she can know the truth._

Aika’s form exploded into light. The burst was so bright that Sephiroth had to close his eyes and shield them with a hand. Though blind, he could feel the heat of her life wash outward in one final burst. When the light subsided, all that was left of Aika was a perfect sphere, milky white, smooth and pearlescent. Wisps danced around the materia, their gentle sparkle and flow reminiscent of the waves of the Lifestream around him.

The materia descended into Sephiroth's open palm, and he closed his fingers around it. It felt different, unlike any materia he had ever encountered before. Though he hoped that it would prove to have healing properties, it didn't feel like a healing materia. He could feel a great power within the shell of the sphere, lazily coiling and swirling around and into itself, but its identity was a mystery.

He opened his mouth to ask what this was, but Aika was gone, and the Lifestream was fading away around him. In the final moments before he awakened to the solid earth beneath him, in the first burst of sunlight that greeted his eyes, he heard Aika’s voice finally betray her most dangerous secret.

_Blackwell Reuben is not Hana’s father._


	49. Aika's Spell

The castle was a different place at night. In the day, people pulsed in and out like blood from a beating heart, coming, flowing outward, and returning again in a predictable beat that kept the country alive. Through the castle walls passed far more than treasures and people, it was the source of all laws, gossip, and slander that could build or destroy in one day or thousands. It was a place of danger gilded with ceremony, secrets veiled in vivid silks, daggers hidden behind robes, hell in the guise of paradise.

Under the moonlight, except for the regular march of the guards, all was still. As much as Wutai depended on the chaos in the palace to keep her alive, Sephiroth thought that the true glory of the capital could best be seen as she lay sleeping, exposed and shining in silver.

He took his time in the gardens in the outer ring of the palace. This deep into the winter, there was not much besides the stone fixtures to be seen. Despite the planet’s fatal, icy blow, the gardens lived yet. He could feel the life, slumbering, beneath the sheets of white.

Sephiroth looked to the moon and its cold light. He had no right to be here. He had been the one to fell Wutai, nearly singlehandedly. ShinRa had given the orders, but that did not change the fact that Wutai had bled and then died by his hand. To stand at the heart of the fallen nation and admire her beauty was sacrilege.

But that was not why he was here, and such thoughts were useless.

It was nearing midnight, and he had observed the guards long enough to be able to predict their movements. The next change of watch would come in only a few more minutes, and he had postponed his advance long enough. Ever since Aika had given him the strange, colorless materia, Jenova had remained inexplicably absent. He didn’t know what to think of it, but didn’t want to rely on the effect for very long. He had no way of knowing when it would expire, only that he needed to be long and very far gone before that happened.

He extended his wing, letting it lie loosely at his shoulder blade as he waited. Sephiroth intently watched the last guard on the ramparts, waiting for the exact moment when he would decide to leave. The man yawned and lowered his spear, making for the guard tower. Sephiroth waited for four deep, steady breaths, until the guard had already opened the door, before he whispered a word lost to the wind.

The materia in his bracer glowed with his will and power as a wind of his own strengthened a gust to just the point where it would knock the guard’s cap from his head - strong, but not to the point where it would seem unnatural. Cursing under his breath, the guard turned from the door to fetch his hat. The execution was seamless. By the time the guard had righted his uniform and left his post, Sephiroth had long ago leapt to the ramparts and flown through the open door, the guard none the wiser that an intruder was already safely hidden in the shadows, headed deeper into the castle entirely unhindered.

Thanks to the intel gathered during the war, he already had a general idea of the layout of the castle. He headed east down several hallways to arrive in the wing reserved for guests. Hiding from the torchlight, he breathed a second incantation and a mastered Sense materia in the bracer on his arm glowed with life.

With the help of his materia, he spread his awareness to probe the rooms. To his surprise, he found every single one of them occupied. He frowned as he slowly felt over the area, scanning room after room of nobles. There was an abnormal amount of finery in those rooms, even by the lofty standards of Wutai’s nobility. They were all here to stand on ceremony for something, something big.

But he could not sense Hana among the mass of nobility.

_Where else would she be, if not the guest wing?_

Sephiroth fed more energy to the materia, widening the area he could sense at the cost of acuity. The castle was eerily full, every room occupied to maximum capacity, and even at this hour, the kitchens were ablaze with life. Was there some kind of festival going on? Something didn’t sit right with him. Nothing had been abnormal about the city or gardens outside. And security had been lax, especially considering how many nobles were housed here tonight. If it was some kind of event, it had been poorly planned and thrown together last minute, without time even to increase the guard.

Annoyed by the delay, he continued east, leaving the guest wing. He kept his Sense materia active as he flew quickly but aimlessly through the halls, dark and silent as a shadow.

His unease strengthened as his search of the castle yielded nothing except more nobles. There was only one place he hadn’t yet checked, and that was the wing where the royal family was housed.

His Sense materia hit a wall of men. That alone was no surprise, considering he was approaching the emperor’s private chambers. What surprised him was that he could sense Godo now, and he was _not_ the figure surrounded by ranks and files of armed guards.

Hana was.

The realization was enough to stop him in his tracks. He searched again, only to find the same results. Godo had a few elites posted outside and inside his room, but he had stationed the vast bulk of his men around Hana in an adjacent suite.

_Were they expecting **me**? _ It explained the garrison surrounding his wife, but not the nobles. He would expect the place to be evacuated if they had known that he would be coming, not filled to capacity, especially if word of his latest massacre had spread. And if Godo had kept the elites for himself, then the army surrounding Hana was likely acting more as a display of force or intimidation than actually guarding against any significant threat.

_What is this…?_

Puzzling and annoying though it was, they were sorely mistaken if any amount of rank and file guards were going to keep Sephiroth from his goal.

He hadn’t been planning to employ his Sleep materia so early, but the men placed that thick around Hana’s chambers left him with little choice unless he wanted to cause much more of a commotion. Strangely, the guard was thinnest outdoors, further confirming his suspicion that the guards were not there to protect her from a threat, but to send a message to those inside the palace. Godo was putting on some kind of front, though Sephiroth had no idea as to why.

Putting aside the matter for the moment, he cast a SleepAll strong enough to knock every one of the guards out instantly before he entered through an unlocked window. Thankfully, the outdoor guards were relatively isolated from the rest, so until they were found, no commotion would be raised. Even so, Sephiroth knew full well that this maneuver, however necessary, drastically cut the time he had.

Before his feet even touched the tatami mat he directed a second Sleep spell to envelop the room. Hana had already been sleeping, if fitfully, and she let out a little whimper and tossed as the spell collided with her. Sephiroth watched in confusion; it was not the reaction he was used to seeing.

The spell was taking a long time to take effect. She was still restless several long seconds after he had cast. Refusing to consider anything but the task at hand, he cast again. With a slight shudder, Hana’s body stilled, and her breathing became deeper, if still not even.

Sephiroth waited much longer than he should have to approach her, and he refused to acknowledge why.

He dropped to her side and pulled the comforter off her body. Strangely, she twitched as the cold night air hit her, and Sephiroth froze. She should not have been able to respond to that. Though from a distance she might have appeared to be sound asleep, Sephiroth knew from the tiny details that she was not nearly as deeply asleep as he needed her to be. Her eyes were dancing behind closed lids, and her breathing, though deep, was irregular and rather quick. Was she dreaming? What kind of dream could be powerful enough to overcome the complete calm of a Sleep spell?

She, like the gardens of Wutai, glowed in the moonlight, and the sight of her face - open and defenseless - transfixed him for more than several heartbeats.

Shaking himself out of the daze, he let his hand hover a hair’s breadth above her forehead before he cast again, summoning all of his own magical prowess and fusing it with the full power in the mastered materia. The effect would have knocked a Zolom out cold. Hit point-blank like that with such a powerful blow, there would be no way for her to retain any level of consciousness.

He did not feel remorse for the harsh spell.

She absolutely could not be allowed to wake.

Though it took seconds longer than anticipated, her breathing evened. Whether or not she still dreamed, she was completely paralyzed in sleep.

In a way, he was grateful for these delays. The haste they necessitated allowed him to block out everything but the task at hand. The full strength of his mental composure had not yet returned from Jenova's seige upon it, and he knew that the right kind of distraction would fell him.

With the lightest touch, wary of her waking even though nothing had yet indicated that she would, he brushed her yukata away just enough to reveal the dark, deep scar marring the smooth curve of her knee. He used his Sense materia again, probing the damage as methodically as he could. The tendon had been entirely severed, and then healed incorrectly. The kneecap was in the wrong place, having fallen after its support had been cut. There was a hollow in her skin where the muscle had healed over the gaping absence of the tendon. He pressed his lips together tightly - the damage was extensive, and made even worse by her body trying but failing to restore itself.

Slowly, he pulled Aika’s materia, the moonlight colored pearl, from his cloak. Its wan, fey light illuminated the damage, making the line of red all the more stark against Hana’s skin, and he frowned, refocusing. Slowly, tentatively, he threaded his own strength into the sphere and explored the power housed in its crystal casing. He breathed out and closed his eyes as the materia answered his summons, and then the man and the magic fused. As one, they reached out to the wound, touching it with fingers of light, and a thousand images filled his mind.

The materia was not reacting how he expected it would. Normally, once he and the materia joined it would read his will and direct itself accordingly. This orb was different. It was actively defying him. The magic was seeping backwards up his arm to encase him instead of her, and he started to see images - memories, thoughts, of things not so very far passed. Infuriated, he tried to reign in the magic around his hand, bend it to _his_ will. In the physical world, he was vaguely aware that he had Hana’s knee in a vice-like grip, demanding the magic to go _there_. But it would not. Like a mist, it clung to him, and then, slowly, to her, everywhere but where the wound stretched.

He saw things that he had come here knowing that he must soon banish from his mind forever. The more he thought this, the more he _thought_ , the more vivid the memories became.

_Hana’s face as she looked up at him, dark eyes wide and wet under the bridal cap she wore-_

_\--her stone silence as they entered his apartment for the first time-_

_“He loves to read. He reads a lot about geography. I think he really likes to travel. He gets souvenirs from every place he goes.”_

_\--her small, content smile as she had prepared tea from the pot Angeal had given her-_

_\--her wistful longing as she had looked at those cherry blossom dishes in the department store-_

_\--standing at the helicopter door in Junon, hair whipping in the wind, as she beckoned them to take her back to Midgar-_

_“He loves to stretch out in the sunlight and lose himself in a book. Sometimes he’ll fall asleep there.”_

_\--the shimmering dress she had worn to the company ball, and how beautiful-_

_\--the polite little bow she gave to everyone she met-_

_“For all that he’s known as a silent man, he really gets quite irritable if it’s too quiet for too long. He has a small noisemaker that plays the sound of the ocean waves as he sleeps.”_

_\--how she jumped at the sound of every gunshot she fired-_

_\--the taste and warmth of her tea-_

_"He’s much more particular about his toothpaste than his shampoo. He has an obsession with clean socks.”_

_\--the agonized scream they had shared as his wing had torn from his back-_

_“He whispers when he sleeps. He hates the color yellow. He has a soft spot for white chocolate, fudge, and cakes.”_

_\--the look in her eyes as she had laid his secrets bare to the world, and her last words-_

_“I’m not so sure I understand him better than anyone else. But I want to. And I will never stop trying to. Because in the end, against everything I ever thought could happen…I--”_

“Enough!” Sephiroth roared aloud, and seized control of the milky power surrounding him and his wife. With all the physical and mental power he possessed, he forced the magic down his hand and thrust it into the wound.

The world was lost in light, and Sephiroth staggered as the flow of magic exploded, expending every last ounce of both his physical and mental strength. And then, as quickly as the light had come, it vanished, sparkles like stardust falling to the earth the only sign that the materia had been activated at all. In its wake was only darkness and all-consuming silence.

The materia fell from his hand, its light gone, rolling across the floor and away from him with a hollow whisper.

For a moment, all he heard was the roar of his own heartbeat and ragged breaths.

And then, when his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the traitorous wound still stretched dark and red across Hana’s flesh.

“No…” he choked, the truth washing over his spent form in crippling waves. He knew the feel of healing materia, and whatever it was that Aika had given him had no such resemblance. Whatever that woman had intended, it had never, not from the very beginning, been to heal her daughter’s wound.

He had failed.

He fell forward, overcome with fatigue, only just catching himself with his hands to rest on all fours. He could not fix what he had done. It was permanent, an immortal testament of his ultimate betrayal.

“ _Hana_ …” The word rose unbidden from his heaving chest.

His time was up. The guards had seen the light from the materia at the very least, and who knows what else. He heard them thunder in and surround him at spear point, but he did not care. He was spent, exhausted, defeated. He did not attempt to rise from where he was bent on all fours, his own body positioned suspiciously over his wife’s. The guards would surely get the wrong idea, finding him in such a position with Hana lying prone beneath him and her yukata pulled up to bare her leg. He closed his eyes and let his head fall. He didn’t care what they would think. Let them take him, do what they would with him, he simply no longer cared.

A hand, soft and warm, was pressed to his cheek.

The sensation sent fire through his frame. Shocked, he opened his eyes, and there, not even a breath away, was Hana, closer by far than he had ever allowed her to come. Her touch, tender and pleading, held him captive, helpless but to stare into her face.

Her hair was tied with a ribbon that he recognized. His eyes widened with realization. She had expected him to come, and predicted how he would try to subdue her. She had chosen that accessory to make herself immune to his sleep spell.

That’s why she had been fidgeting; she had been putting on an act, and had been conscious to experience the entire thing.

He stared into her sad, dark eyes, knowing now that she knew everything, and waited for his final judgment to fall.


	50. Collide

Hana’s gaze made the world around them fade away. There were twenty men surrounding them and holding him at spear-point, afraid to approach but bound by duty to not flee. They were close, a tight-knit ring that eliminated any chance of escape, but _she_ was closer. Sephiroth could feel her breath on his cheek, see her pulse flutter light and fast at her throat. She was so near to him that he could not see anything but her face, her lips, her _eyes_ …

Under different circumstances Sephiroth would have been irate with the close distance that the guards kept to him and how they had forced their way into an intensely personal matter of his, and yet now he felt that the only one violating his privacy was _her_.

She had never held his gaze like this, holding herself as an equal, grounded, without fear or reservation.

_No, not never. Just not since Kuro…_

Hana spoke a single word in Wutaiese that caused a stir among the men around them. When only silence followed, a slight frown tugged at a single corner of her lips, and she repeated herself. At the command that cut through the pall like a hot knife, the men withdrew with only murmured words of obeisance before their submission to their orders.

_I have not heard her speak like that since…_

And then they were alone. The moon’s light was cold and harsh, casting the room in an eerie glow.

“You’re here,” she said. Her hand was still pressed to his cheek, and with the gentlest caress she held him captive.

Sephiroth set his jaw. He had nothing to say to that. He still shook, breath coming in steady but slow and laborious draws. More than his physical strength had been sapped.

Shadows passed over her face, and she choked softly even as her lips smiled. Both the pain and the happiness in her were genuine. Slowly, gently, she moved her thumb to stroke his jaw as her fingers and palm curled closer around his face. For a moment, she watched the movement of her hand in disconnected awe, as if she could not believe it was happening herself. She paused, hesitating, before slowly drawing back at last to fold her hands neatly in her lap.

“Are you afraid of me?” Sephiroth asked her, voice dark.

Hana held her gaze steady as she answered, “Yes.” He searched her and found her answer to be true. That single word sent a lance of feeling through his chest, but she had not spared him with a lie.

“Hmph. You would be a fool not to be.”

At his slightest withdrawal, her hand flew out and seized his forearm, gripping with all her strength. For a mortal woman, it was considerable, or perhaps it only seemed that way given his current weakness.

“Don’t you _dare_ go,” she seethed with the same intensity with which she had ordered the guards to leave. “Don’t you _dare_.”

He was disgusted by his weakness. What was she next to him? He could pry himself from her no matter how hard she held on. It would be nothing to tear her arms from him and throw her across the room. All the strength in her entire body combined would be nothing he could not shatter with a flick of his hand.

But the image, bright and violent, of that burst of her lifeblood and the silent scream on her lips, what he had fully believed to be her final cry, was a more powerful chain than any metal. It kept him still and rooted, dangerously close and unsettlingly defenseless.

He pressed his lips together and held steady. To this, too, he would say nothing.

Though physically they were closer than ever, a dark gorge still spanned wide between them.

And Hana was still reaching across it.

“That materia,” she said. “Did my mother give it to you?”

Sephiroth had been so wrapped up in his own experience that he hadn’t considered that she might have been affected too. She had to have been; there was no other way she could have possibly guessed that her mother had been behind its creation.

“Did you meet her?” she asked.

Sephiroth nodded once.

For all the impossibility of his claim, she did not seem to question it. She was shocked, certainly, and a little breathless, but not doubtful. Quite the opposite, in fact. The eager way she spoke seemed to indicate that she fully believed him. “Did she have anything she wanted to say to me?”

Sephiroth had not anticipated speaking with Hana at all, and so had not planned how he would answer the question. Still, he immediately knew the answer that he must give.

“No. Nothing.”

The words had come easily, but the lie left a bitter taste in his mouth. The way Hana’s face fell only made it worse. He had come to fix things, after all, as a last token before his final departure.

He knew he shouldn’t linger, but as if she read his thoughts, she clung harder to his forearms. “Stay,” she said, and this time, it was a plea. She reached her fingertips as if to stroke his bangs, but pulled back at the last second. For the briefest moment before reason returned, he found himself wishing that she hadn’t.

“Your wing,” Hana said. “Can I see it?”

Sephiroth frowned. He was about to pull away to show just how clearly he objected to her request, until his eyes happened upon the wound on her leg. Even shadowed as it was, the sight still caused a deep and visceral reaction.

He had no right to deny her anything ever again.

He slowly released his wing. Lacking the strength to keep it held upright, he let it gracefully arc down into Hana’s waiting arms. Her touch was light at first, but with time, when Sephiroth neither encouraged nor discouraged her, it strengthened.

“I remember that night,” Hana said, fingers stroking the inky surface of his plumage, sadness and wonder in her motions in equal parts. “I was so scared, and you were in so much pain. That was the night that I finally learned about how you grew up. And now, even as a man, you still haven’t escaped it. Hojo, ShinRa, they still use you, like you’re just a plaything.

“And there’s something terrible inside you. Something that tried to--” Her wounded leg quivered as if under the phantom of pain now past, and the motion was a fresh lance of pain to Sephiroth’s heart as well.

Sephiroth slowly drew in a breath through his lips and lowered his eyes, head hanging limp and his hair pooling over Hana’s legs. Perhaps afraid that he would pull away again, Hana’s hands buried themselves into his wing, nestling so deep into the dense feathers that her hands and wrists were consumed. She held on firmly, latched securely so that to pull away would cause him considerable pain. Sephiroth had no energy to respond either way to such impassioned fervor. It washed over him, and he felt its presence, but he was far too numb to even begin to feel its heat.

“How can something so terrible be so…beautiful?”

Sephiroth clenched his fists, knuckles white. A hard and heavy lump was lodged in his throat. He could not stay. This had gone on too long already.

He had to go. He had already irreparably harmed her once. He would not allow a second chance.

“I love you.”

Sephiroth’s body went rigid. Time stopped, and he waited for something, _anything_ , to undo what had just been done.

“I love you, Sephiroth,” Hana whispered a second time.

Those words could never be called back. Now, out in the air, they were real, tangible, undeniable.

Sephiroth raised his eyes to meet hers. There, in the dark depths of her eyes, the light of a living fire flooded him with understanding.

Nothing would be the same between them ever again.

“I know,” he said softly. He knew full well it was not the response she wanted, but it was the only one he dared to give.

He watched pain fill her eyes as his words slowly broke her heart. Never in a thousand lifetimes would he have expected that her response to his quiet rejection would be to embrace him.

She leapt and overwhelmed him in his weakness, the force so great as to throw him back. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, holding him desperately close.

And in the second of vulnerability that her lunge created, using momentum that had been silently building for far too long, she leapt a second time, this time to seize his lips with hers.

The motion burst the dam holding back a lifetime of emotion.

He did not resist her - he _could_ not under such an assault. His body and mind were flooded with sensations of such magnitude that he had never felt before, ecstasy and agony, simultaneously wonderful and dreadful. He fell back, overpowered, and she followed his descent. As horrifyingly _stupid_ as he knew it was to allow this to continue, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away either.

It _felt_ …

Conscious thought left, and only instinct remained to take its place. Later, when language and logic returned, he could say that guilt over what he had done had caused him to submit, that it was his last gift before he left, that he was just giving her what she wanted and nothing more.

He could say that all he wanted later, but in that moment, consumed by the full force of the fire of Hana's powerful, terrible, wonderful spirit, he had had no intention except to meet the heat of her passion with his own.

* * *

 

Their lips danced until both were breathless, gasping and spent. She was the first to gently pull away, exhausted. Still, she did not let go, both arms firmly encircling his chest, head resting on his heart as she shuddered with the aftershock of what had just happened. He put one arm around her to still her quaking, and she sighed with pleasure. Too late to turn back, he left his arm where it lay across her as he tried to reconstruct some semblance of normalcy with each breath in and out.

Rattled to his core, the thought would not leave him that _this_ could not ever be forgotten.

He could not hold back a quiet moan of agony at the notion.

_I should never have let it happen._

“Will you stay with me for one last night?”

Hana’s soft request brought him back to reality, where she lay embracing him, looking up at him with immeasurable sorrow in her eyes. She knew he would go, perhaps she had even known from the beginning. If she had known him so well as to thwart his plans to subdue her with a sleep materia, she likely would have been able to guess his next intentions as well.

“It is not wise,” Sephiroth said.

“I know,” she said. However, she did not take back her request.

“Sleep, then,” Sephiroth said, closing his eyes. “I will not leave until dawn.” Truthfully, he needed to rest as well. It would be easier to part in the morning when his strength had returned and the passage of time had lessened the influence of what had just happened.

Hana did not return to her futon. Instead, she closed her eyes right where she lay on his chest, and slowly her breathing deepened in sleep.

Sephiroth waited until she was completely asleep before he gently laid her back on her futon, retrieving the heavy comforter. She woke, alarmed, as he laid its warm weight over her body. “I’m not leaving,” he promised, and his word was enough to still her again.

He unfastened the buckles that held his coat together and slipped it off, then removed his shoes.  Content that Hana was soundly asleep, he stretched himself out on the tatami beside her, and once he was down, he knew he couldn’t get up if he wanted to. Exhaustion pressed him down and kept him there, and he looked forward to the oblivion of sleep where all this could be left behind.

But he did not sleep one wink the entire night, held in the world of wakefulness by the presence of the woman lying beside him and the sight of her face bathed in the fey light of the moon.

* * *

 

Sephiroth rose as the first rays of dawn peeked over the mountains. Hana had not woken yet, and it was better that way. Once on his feet, he looked down at his sleeping wife for several long moments before he turned his face away and resolved to never look back.

He slipped on his coat and shoes with little more than a whisper of leather. The touch of his battle uniform was a familiar and welcome sensation after the strange events of last night. Looking out the window to the mountains of Wutai, he imagined that he was returning to Midgar after a mission. There would be paperwork there, and lots of it. Things to do that were boring and routine. He was anxious to return to the stable life he had always known.

There, in the gray city, on his own, he knew who and what he was. All the uncertainty and tumult here would soon be forgotten in the bleak life that awaited him.

He crossed the room to retrieve Aika’s materia, sitting innocently where it had fallen the previous night. As much as he despised the thing and how its spell had escalated into far more than he had ever bargained for, it kept Jenova out of his mind, and so he kept it for utility’s sake. His mind was his own now, and he intended to keep it that way.

With his brief preparations complete, there was no further reason to stay.

He headed for the door to the garden without the slightest glance back, sliding it open and breathing in the crisp morning air.

“It’s my fault, you know.”

Hana’s words stopped him in the doorway. Sephiroth held his composure, eyes steeled on the mountains ahead, back straight and head high. He was a SOLDIER, and he held himself as one, strictly at attention, never wavering in his path.

“It is,” Hana continued. He heard the rustle of fabric as she rose to sit. He did not react. Her wound would prohibit her from following him. “I’m the one who fell in love, and brought my family’s curse down on us. I didn’t actually believe in it, or maybe I just didn’t want to. But it’s just as I told you - true happiness is followed by tragedy, and it has been since my bloodline split from the Kisiragi’s.”

The notion was somewhat amusing, morbidly humorous. “All this happened because of the Kazehawa curse? Because you fell in love with me?” It was just such an easy way to explain it all away, so convenient that he was slightly disappointed in her for believing it. Still, she spoke genuinely. Maybe she had convinced herself that it was true.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “It’s all my fault.”

And he began to entertain the idea. He knew nothing of Wutai except how to destroy it. Here, in this land very different from his own, they had not only met, but been brought to marriage, a destiny very short of being a statistical impossibility. What did he know of the forces that had brought them together and then, in a brief turn, torn them apart? Why _not_ a curse? What other explanation was there for all that had happened?

He hummed softly. He would ponder it more later, when he was very far away from this place and could think more academically about it.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It’s all my fault.”

“Because you fell in love with me?”

“Yes.”

A flash of understanding almost made him look back. His head turned and then froze as his eyes passed the threshold of the castle. He took a moment to ground himself again. Still, plain as day, he knew the insinuation, and he understood why she was letting him go.

She thought the burden was squarely on her own shoulders because _she_ had loved _him,_ and her feelings had been unrequited. This conveniently exonerated him from any blame in bringing down this curse of hers upon them.

It was convoluted and extreme thinking, by all accounts. Clearly, pain had driven her beyond logic and reason.

_But…wasn’t it true?_

The thought echoed in his mind for several long moments.

_Was she the only one at fault?_

His hand wrapped around the doorframe. He didn’t know what he was reaching out for; he only knew that the wood under his hand was solid and reassuring.

“Perhaps not entirely,” he said softly, and then spread his wing and leapt into the sky.


	51. Homecoming

Hana had not said a single word since the maidservants had come to take her away. She had endured everything without a sound, letting the women work around her while she lingered in her thoughts. Pa and Godo were the only men to witness her transformation, sitting and watching in grim awe.

Shining from the perfumed waters she had been bathed in, she sat on a cushion while extensions were expertly woven into her hair. With each stroke of an oiled comb, her hair grew longer and thicker, straight and sleek, until its midnight lengths pooled to the floor and trailed behind her. Her chin did not dip with the weight, and she held her head high, eyes steady but unseeing.

Another servant brought a tray of powders and brushes. She eyed them for a moment, and then gently closed her eyes in permission. In the wake of the steady path of the brushes, her skin was painted alabaster, and with each subsequent stroke more and more of her face and neck were hidden behind a mask of moonlight-pale perfection. Another brush painted a rosebud of brightest scarlet over her lips, and a third darkened her eyebrows to ebony. When she opened her lightless eyes, she had the solemn face of a woman wrought through the fires of rebirth.

When her hair and makeup had been groomed to otherworldly perfection, the servants drew away, talking in hushed whispers. The break was so unnatural as to draw Hana’s attention back to the present. She raised her eyebrows in inquiry. One woman bowed deeply to Godo and whispered a few words to him behind a hand.

Godo sighed. “You must stand for them to dress you properly.”

Hana said nothing, her face a passive mask. They all knew she couldn’t, not without the crutches, which would only get in the way of the robes.

Pa rose to his feet and went to her side. With his old, weathered hands, he pulled her to her feet, and then offered his shoulders as further support. The servants resumed their fluid dance around her, and Hana faded away again, this time her eyes closed as the maids and Pa moved both to dress and support her.

Her hakama had been cloaked in one kimono after another until her shoulders sagged from the weight of eleven robes, layering shades of blue, silver, and white. She endured the dressing with eyes fixed ahead until the twelfth and final robe was brought - a midnight blue kimono embroidered with silver phoenixes, wings unfurled in their full glory. Though she showed no reaction as it was unfolded, she could not keep her eyes open as it, too, was laid on her shoulders.

Her hair was pulled aside and a length of skirt that trailed two feet behind her was tied at her waist, a train of opalescent silk embroidered with sakura blossoms of the softest pink. Fully dressed, the maids busied themselves with adjusting the opulent layers, laying her long sleeves straight and smooth, combing her hair anew so it trailed down her skirt, and folding and tucking so each kimono’s unique hue could be seen in the dip of the neck and as they diverged beneath her obi.

“You are beautiful, Yukihana,” Godo said. “A phoenix in full right and glory.”

Hana opened her eyes slowly at the comment, as if awakening from a dream. She only stared at the emperor in response.

“Are you ready?” Godo asked.

Hana said nothing, only slowly fell to her knees with Pa’s help. The maids adjusted her hair and sleeves and skirt anew, and then the guards came in and lifted her by the palanquin on which she sat.

Her eyes stayed forward as she was carried outside of her chambers and into the throng beyond.

* * *

 

Sephiroth returned quietly, without fanfare of any kind. Per protocol, he promptly reported to the Turks, where he gave his full report of his time in Wutai in strict confidence. He checked in with Lazard and took a brief detour by the medical wing to get a preventative vaccination for Wutaian fever on his way to work. Besides the bandage on his arm from the shot, there was nothing on him that was indicative of where he had just come from or what he had done while he was there.

Sephiroth’s comrades-in-arms all fully expected his homecoming to be extremely awkward for everybody. Sure, he would walk as normal, with his head held high and airs preened to intimidating perfection, but underneath the act, his friends knew that the man reporting for duty would be a very different one than the man who had left only a short while ago.

So Angeal and Genesis had let themselves into the general’s office and waited for his return in silence, Zack’s account of all that had happened weighing heavily on their minds.

When the doorknob turned and Sephiroth entered, not a word was said between the three friends. No ceremony, no greetings, only wary glances between them as each gauged the other. Genesis had a bet with Zack that Angeal would immediately break into the lecture to rule all lectures, but when it came down to it, words fell away, and the most that even Angeal could manage was a heavy sigh.

Sephiroth sat down at his desk, pulled a ream of papers from the top of a monumental pile, and began his work.

“How much do you know?” Sephiroth asked, not looking away from his papers, and his face as nonchalant as if he had inquired of the weather.

“Well, Blackwell told you something about your mom that made you lose your marbles, you incinerated a noble’s estate in the Capitol, barbequed everyone in it, wounded Zack, almost killed your wife but got off with permanently crippling her instead, and presumably have abandoned her, brokenhearted, at the palace to meet the fate of the physically and emotionally shattered.” Angeal visibly grimaced with each of Genesis’s harsh accusations, but Sephiroth showed no reaction other than an odd lightlessness in his eyes. “Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Sephiroth said softly. “I believe that is all of it.”

“Is it true?” Angeal asked, voice colored with an impossible hope.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“…Yes.”  The word was whispered, and it was the only sign that the two friends needed to know that Hana had not been the only one shattered by the events in Wutai.

Genesis rubbed the back of his neck. “Dear goddess,” he sighed.

“What’s done is done,” Angeal said, and the both of them expected something to follow it, but Angeal gave up. “Zack took it the hardest,” Angeal said slowly. “He said he can never forgive you.”

Sephiroth’s lips pursed tight, and he drew in a deep but silent breath. “I do not expect him to.” He finally stopped his writing, and slowly set his pen down on his desk. He laced his fingers together and rested his head on his hands. “I will complete the paperwork to return him to Second Class so he will no longer have to be under my direct command. If he wishes to leave SOLDIER entirely, I can find another position for him elsewhere.”

Angeal and Genesis had to wait a long time for the words they already knew were coming.

“I extend the same offer to you two as well.” He began working again, pen scratching on paper.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Angeal said softly.

Genesis gave a soft grunt and a shrug of quiet assent.

Sephiroth’s hand was slightly quivering, and his breathing was heavier. Relief pulled the tension from his shoulders but made his throat clench tight.

Angeal gave a weary smile and clapped his friend on the forearm to reassure him that he hadn’t lost everything. Not his friends.

“Look,” Genesis said. “The bigwigs are out for the coronation. Seriously, all of them. It’s practically a holiday. You should take the day off and rest while you can.”

“Coronation?” Sephiroth’s head shot up.

“Party of the century,” Genesis said. “Pity we weren’t invited. The festivities are going to last a week.”

“Who’s--?”

“Oh come on, don’t play dumb. I get it, really. You were trying to protect Hana from a second encounter with your insanity when you left her. I still think you could have done _something_ to stop her. Whatever. What’s that saying…’you can’t break the cookie without the crumbs’ or something?”

“What does Hana have to do with--?”

All of Genesis’s levity was drained in an instant and Angeal’s eyes were wide. Genesis examined his silver-haired friend’s expression carefully, and upon finding genuine confusion, he hissed several curses that turned the air green. “Dear Goddess, you seriously didn’t know?”

But Sephiroth was smart, and it only took him a few seconds for the pieces to fall together. His friends knew he had figured it out when all the color drained from his face.

“It’s impossible. Godo would have had to-“

“Nothing happened to him,” Angeal said, trying to remain calm for his friend’s sake. “It’s the old samurai code. He was emperor when he lost the war. A couple decades ago, the country would have demanded his ritual suicide to right his dishonor. As it is now, he’s merely stepping down and exiling himself. And Hana-“

Sephiroth stood up with enough force to knock his solid wood desk forward two feet, eyes ablaze. “Stop the coronation.”

“How?” Genesis asked. “She’s halfway across the world and the ceremony is happening in an hour! She’ll be empress before you can even arrange to get a helicopter!”

“If she is crowned Blackwell’s claim to the throne is sealed and her life is forfeit!” Sephiroth roared.

“You think we don’t know that?” Genesis shot back. “If you didn’t want this to happen, you never should have deserted her! _You_ should have been the one to stop her!”

“Enough!” Angeal said, pushing the two men away and using his own body as a shield between them. “Bickering isn’t going to do anyone any good. Sephiroth didn’t know. There was nothing he could have done.” He shoved both of them hard and managed to get a few feet of distance between the two.

“She made this choice,” Angeal said. “And she knew what it meant. All we can do now is trust her.”

 Sephiroth leaned against the wall and put his face in his hand.

“Does this change anything?” Angeal asked. “Will you go back for her?”

Sephiroth could not answer the question.

* * *

 

“You don’t have to watch this, you know,” Genesis said, addressing his friend on the couch.

“I know,” Sephiroth said, but made no move to turn off the TV.

“Let him do what he wants,” Angeal said to Genesis under his breath.

“Fine. Popcorn, Seph?” Genesis asked.

Angeal glared at the redhead as he joined his two friends on the couch.

They were all back in Sephiroth’s apartment now. Angeal had invited them to his place to watch the coronation, but Sephiroth had insisted that it would not make a difference where they watched it. It was a lie. They all felt it. The place smelled stale from having been vacant for so long, and all around them, there were reminders of the greatest vacancy of all - the one that could not be fixed with time.

Hana’s teapot was displayed next to the stove alongside a satchel brimming with her tea leaves. By the sink, there was a vertical container holding her chopsticks next to the sakura china dishes Sephiroth had bought her. The walls were painted, but the wainscoting she had started was only half finished, her brushes and tools set on a cloth in the corner. Angeal had closed the door to Hana’s bedroom, but he knew what she had left there - beautiful yukatas, a neatly made futon, things she had brought from her homeland to make a new home.

Hana was in every part of the apartment that she had made a home during her short stay in Midgar.

The men half-listened to the introduction of the nobles of the Wutaian court, hastily gathered for the occasion. They could hear the Wutaian language in the background under the voice of the translator. Every nobleman brought an exquisite gift and added it to the mountain that awaited the future empress. One by one, every nobleman fell to the ground, foreheads to the floor, and gave elaborate statements of fealty to the new monarch enshrined out of sight in a curtained palanquin of phoenix wings wrought of gold and jewels.

Angeal looked sideways now and again to gauge how Sephiroth was taking it, but could tell nothing. He imagined what would have happened had he been in that throng. Would the unconquerable Silver General have bowed and offered obeisance to her as well?

President ShinRa and other ShinRa officials were presented together. They bowed stiffly from the waist, not bending a knee. “Empress Kazehawa,” the president said as his present was taken and added to the rest. “May your rule over Wutai be long and prosperous.”

Genesis snorted. “That’s it?”

“We won the war,” Sephiroth said blandly. “They are only going through the minimum formalities. She is empress of a conquered country. They want to remind her who really controls the world now.”

“I hate politics,” Genesis said. “Wonder what their gift was. A nice, ShinRa logo T-shirt?” Angeal grunted and they resumed watching the procession in silence. The line of nobles to be presented before her still stretched out of the palace’s grand hall. Genesis fell asleep once, but Angeal woke the man up with a sharp jab to his ribs when he stared snoring.

Blackwell was next in line. He, like the ShinRa officials, offered no words promising fealty, but said only, “Dearest Yuki-chan, I am so glad that this day has come.”

“Coward,” Genesis seethed. “He’s never around anymore. Not where I can get to him and give him _exactly_ what he deserves.”

Blackwell took his place in the throng, walking as proudly as if it was he that was going to be crowned. In a way, his attitude wasn’t misplaced.

“You never answered my question, Sephiroth,” Angeal said. “Will you go back for her?”

Sephiroth stared at the TV and gave no answer.

“If you do,” Genesis said, “you need to know what’s going to happen here.”

“And what is that?” Sephiroth asked mildly.

Angeal crossed his arms, a dark scowl on his face. “Blackwell hit fast and hard. There’s a proposal called the ‘Post-War Reassignment of Duties and Responsibilities’ that is aiming to essentially dissolve SOLDIER as it is now and reintegrate it into the army. Certain high ranking officials will be put behind desks and kept quiet while Blackwell becomes chief of all branches of the military - Turks and Weapons Development included. From there, it will only be a matter of time before he assassinates his way to the head of the whole company or stages a coup d’état.”

“And I am one of those officials to be swept aside,” Sephiroth stated.

“ _You_ have a lot more to fear than a desk job,” Genesis said. “You’re a liability; the public loves you too much. You’re a threat to his position and he knows it. Blackwell will quietly slip you out of the public eye, keeping you around as a figurehead for a while, at least. But then-“

“He will convince the company that I have been disloyal and that I know too much, and then will have me disposed of.”

Angeal nodded. “And he’s not above using Hana as leverage to get what he wants from you.”

“She’s already on his hit-list to get the Wutaian throne anyway,” Genesis added.

“I know her position there is dangerous, but if you leave it may not save her, and ShinRa is done for. Genesis and I can’t fight this alone anymore. It goes for a vote in a matter of weeks.”

Sephiroth hummed a single note. “You two will be assassinated as well. Not immediately, but you will probably go before I will.”

“We know that,” Angeal said.

“Sure would be nice if you could guard us while we sleep to make up for all the work you’ve dumped on us these past weeks,” Genesis said.

“I did apologize. Multiple times.”

“Words are cheap, my friend.”

They could finally see the end of the line of nobles, and the tension grew. The commentators stopped translating the nobles’ speeches and started talking about the event that was to come.

“We don’t have to watch this,” Angeal reminded Sephiroth.

Sephiroth took the remote from Genesis and turned up the volume.

“ _…we are watching live from the Wutaian capital with coverage of this historic event. Not only is this the first time that the mythical Kazehawa family has held the throne in centuries, but Yukihana is the first empress to be crowned in several generations. It’s hard to believe that only a few weeks ago she was in our midst as the starry-eyed bride to the General Sephiroth. Her life sure is very different now and the world is clamoring for answers not only for how the throne came to change hands so quickly, but also what happened between Sephiroth and Hana, and why the General is not here.”_

“Fuel for the tabloids for years,” Genesis commented idly. “At least it will make it that much harder for Blackwell to get the public to forget you.”

_“…The ceremony itself is rather simple. Yukihana will be presented with the three treasures of the kingdom and then take a short oath of servitude to her country. There are only three noble families left and I can see the courtiers carrying the treasures…”_

The nobles were clearing, and the cameras could get a better view of the dais where Hana was enshrined in an octagonal palanquin made from wings of gold and veiled in curtains of silk. At each point, a courier knelt in full armor, a naginata laid parallel to the ground across his lap.

Genesis whistled softly. “That’s royal treatment,” he said.

Sephiroth was still as stone as the curtains were pulled aside and Hana was revealed in her full glory.

Dressed in the twelve robes of an empress and painted in a mask of moonlight perfection, she exuded a power that stunned Angeal and Genesis breathless. Her face was set, grim and determined, chin raised to the challenge before her.

She raised her eyes and looked straight into the camera, gaze fiery and piercing. Across the world, connected only by an electronic signal now, her husband gazed back at her.

“Who is that?” Genesis asked quietly. “And what did they do with Hana?”

Sephiroth smiled softly, sadly, his eyes never leaving hers. And it was then that Genesis and Angeal saw the true Hana, all weakness scoured away by trial and pain.

“Now,” Sephiroth said slowly, “after all this time, you can finally see the woman I married.”

Genesis looked to Angeal, wondering if he was seeing what he was beginning to see. Slowly, understanding was dawning on them both.

“She is… _strong_ ,” Angeal said.

“She’s like _you_ ,” Genesis said.

Genesis looked back and forth, looking at his commander, and then the empress, and then back to his friend. Finally, after all this time, after all pretenses had been burned away, the two of them together began to make an inkling of sense.

“She is radiant,” Angeal said. “Reborn…like the phoenix.”

“She never was a phoenix. She is _Yukihana_.” Sephiroth corrected. “This is what she always was from the very beginning.”

“Then why haven’t we seen this?” Genesis asked.

Any answer was lost as Hana’s gaze intensified. Something in her changed as it was announced that the emblems of her coronation were approaching. A smile spread across her lips, an action that stopped even the approaching courtiers in their tracks.

Slowly, with the eyes of the whole world watching, she rose to her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japanese culture notes:
> 
> 1) Hakama - a shirt with hanging sleeves tucked under a wider skirt. Can be worn on its own, but acts as undergarments for the kimono in this instance.
> 
> 2) Junihitoe - though the word is not used explicitly in this chapter, it is the name of the wear of the highest nobles, and does really consist of twelve layered kimonos.
> 
> 3) Blackwell calling Hana "Yuki-chan" - as "-chan" is an incredibly familiar and casual suffix, its use in the extremely formal context of the coronation, and especially addressing one's empress this way, would be extremely cocky and rude.
> 
> 4) Naginata - a weapon - a thick rod with a saber-like blade on one end.
> 
> **Reminder: "Yukihana" means "snow" ("yuki") and "flower" ("hana")


	52. The Beginning

“She can’t do that,” Genesis said. “You crippled her.”

“She just did,” Angeal whispered. “Is it possible…?”

“No,” Sephiroth said, pale as bone. “I saw the wound myself. She will never stand, never walk-“

But across the world, as if in response to her husband’s challenge, Hana put one foot forward and slowly, with a wise and sad smile on her face, walked to greet the man bearing the crown.

“How--?”

Sephiroth pulled a milky white materia from the bangle on his arm, staring at it intently. “ _Is_ it possible?” he asked himself in a whisper.

“What is that?” Genesis asked.

“I tried to heal her,” Sephiroth said, and the lump in his throat was visible. “…I failed.”

“Are you sure?” Angeal asked.

Sephiroth kept the materia cupped in one palm but raised his eyes to the screen.

She was _walking_. She had already descended from the dais and to everyone’s astonishment, met the crown bearer in the middle of the aisle.

The commentators were going wild, speaking in tones hushed in reverence for the moment but rapid with confusion. No one needed to be told that this was a breach of protocol. The guards around her palanquin were armed and made to follow immediately, but Hana stilled them with a hand and a single word. She stood alone amid the throng, unguarded, but never stronger. When she was face to face with the courier holding her crown of phoenix wings, she smiled, and spoke in clear Continental.

The commentators were speechless, as were the three SOLDIERS watching the proceedings from half a world away. Behind her, the translators regained themselves enough to start quietly translating her words into her mother tongue, their whispers echoes of the oath of their empress.

“I, Yukihana Kazehawa, with the gods of Wutai and the Continent as my witnesses, take the throne of Wutai with an oath to rebuild this nation, to preserve our heritage and unite my people after the most divisive war our country has ever known. We have surrendered, but we are not fallen.

“As the Phoenix of Wutai, I will rebuild this nation from the ashes as I, myself, have arisen reborn from the fires of this bloody war. I vow to be the servant of Wutai for as long as she may need me. To her I pledge all the strength of my body and mind and will.

“But as of my heart….”

And then she closed her eyes, and the world waited. The power flowing around her, while not lessening in intensity, began to change. Her face softened, her eyes saddened, but on her lips was the smallest smile.

“I cannot pledge my heart, for I have already sworn it to another.”

Sephiroth's jaw clenched.

Hana raised her eyes to look directly into the camera. “Fate is cruel, but it is as I have said,” she said to her husband before the world. “We have surrendered, but we have not fallen. And I will fight for what remains until the end of time.

“I will never give up on you, Sephiroth.”

This vow hung as heavy as any of her others, and all were solemn in their wake.

It was more than power that made her radiant this day, it was love, raw and naked in its purest form, blossomed at long last.

“No one will crown me,” she said to the throne bearer, voice not loud but filling the room. “I take this throne for myself.”

And with that, Hana took the crown and placed it on her own head.

It was done. She was announced as empress and the world applauded as she took upon herself the three emblems of the kingdom - a sword, a ring, and a seal.

Angeal turned off the TV before the commentary could follow.

“She gave her vows in Continental,” Angeal said. “Everyone will think that’s a sign that they really have fallen to ShinRa. She’s just undermined her own vows.”

“Don’t be dense, Angeal. She could care less about ShinRa or the rest of the world. She did it for _you_ ,” Genesis said, looking to Sephiroth who did not tear his eyes away from the blank TV screen. “She spoke in Continental so _you_ could hear her oath from her own lips.”

“I know,” he said.

“She is sworn to Wutai,” Angeal said softly. “And you to ShinRa.”

“I know,” Sephiroth said again.

“I can’t help but think that this is unwise,” Angeal said. “This is about more than just the two of you now. This involves nations - the world.”

“I know, and so does she,” Sephiroth turned from the TV to face his friends. “Both of us have surrendered to our own fates, she said it herself. As to whether or not we have fallen….” Sephiroth paused, thoughtful. “I will leave that to her judgment for the time being. She would know better than I.”

“You’re not giving up either,” Genesis said. “Why?”

Sephiroth smiled. He did not need to affirm his commitment or answer the question. “Come on, there is work to be done. The fight is just beginning.”

* * *

 

Vance had really hoped that he would not have to go this far.

It was Sephiroth’s fault, he asserted to himself as he whisked under cloak through the slums of Midgar - Sephiroth's and his rotten father's. Sephiroth had brainwashed his sister, and then his father had turned the General berserk enough to maim her. He didn’t know whether his father or Sephiroth was more at fault for the despicable state that his sister was in.

Regardless, he would see to it that both of them paid for it with their lives.

The stunt at the coronation didn’t fool him. He didn’t have a true explanation for how she had walked, but he had an inkling of what had given her the strength in that moment, and it would be temporary. When she sat on her throne she would not be able to rise again.

Not without his help.

He glided through the slums like a shadow, winter’s air following in his wake. People kept a wide berth, he noticed with a smirk. Rumors of his army and their intentions had permeated the underbelly of Midgar as much as the rank and the filth. He _was_ the slums now, and he would be ignored and reviled as such until he made his move.

The thought sent a thrill of adrenaline through him.

ShinRa would pay. They would all pay. But none so much as the beloved Silver General.

He did not slow his advance in reverence for the place he approached. The building of stone, somehow untouched by the decay of the slums, was not sacred to him. He cared nothing for the workmanship or meaning of the church, only that inside was housed the key to bringing the General to his knees.

He threw open the wooden doors and cocked his gun. “Come quietly, Cetra,” he commanded. “And I will assure you your life…for a while, at least.”

The lone resident, a brunette young woman in a white dress tending to a small crop of flowers, looked up in shock to see the face of her captor.

* * *

 

Milda waited in the parlor while the women around her scuffled about in alarm. Her news was urgent, but she was immune to the anxiety that filled this place.

“Are you sure about this?” Ria asked again, wringing her hands. “I-If what you say is true, and General Sephiroth really is in such danger-“

“It is true,” Milda said.

Ria gulped, her face pale. “Then what can _we_ really do?”

It was a valid question. Ria’s family was wealthy, certainly, as were many other of the girls’ relatives, but money could dissolve loyalty as quickly as it could buy it. And though many were among ShinRa’s elite, none of those connections were strong enough to halt the tidal wave that was coming. In Ria’s home where Milda and the other girls met, food and fashion and unquestionable devotion were in excess, but military might and political power were sadly lacking.

“You are the _only_ ones that can help,” Milda said. “Sephiroth needs you all.”

The girl’s eyes were wider than the tea saucers. “Yes!” she chirped breathlessly. She straightened as if at attention. “Everything the Silver Elite has will be devoted to protecting him!” Ria scurried off and worked to rally the other panicking girls, her own anxiety as they mobilized an offensive only barely in check.

Milda smiled at Ria's fervor. It wasn’t the usual way to fight a war, she was aware, but there were some who said that the pen was mightier than the sword, and loyalty was worth a thousand soldiers.

She could no longer write for a journal run by ShinRa; the message would never get out. But with a flood of fans storming the city, using all their influence to pull every string they could, they could expose what was happening within ShinRa and put a stop to it.

She set down her tea on the marble table and picked up her pictures again. She leafed through the photos she had captured of the General over the years in secrecy, thinking deeply about all he meant to her. More than sparing her life twice, he had given her a family and a chance to pursue her dreams, things he never had himself. All she had ever had was because of him, and she owed him far more than her life.

She would work as long as she lived to repay her debt as best she could, knowing it could never be even close to reconciled in full.

A recent picture caught her eye and she sobered, running a single finger over the wing sprouting from the General’s shoulder. She had been angry at first that ShinRa would do such a thing to him. More than the pain of its insertion, it had made him something less than human, something unnatural, something that had changed him forever.

But despite the trauma, all the blood and agony, she had learned that it was beautiful.

She smiled at the sight of the raven plumage against the silver of the General’s long hair. A black mark on the immaculate General? No. It was something more. Something that made him _more_ than human, something that enabled rather than crippled and freed instead of confined.

Something very like the ebony haired woman who stood beside him even when she was a world away.

_Black on silver_ , she thought to herself with the first genuine smile she had allowed in a long time. _Who would have thought it would be so right?_

* * *

 

**End of "Black on Silver"**

**To Be Continued in Book Two: "Kintsugi: Gold and Clay"**


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